


hold me tight and think of home

by Rivendell101



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Stardust Fusion, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fantasy, Happy Ending, Non-Graphic Smut, aka betty's, betty is not amused by any of this, jughead is a dork, someone is going to end up with the heart of a star, sweet pea is a pirate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-05-14 11:25:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 47,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19272307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivendell101/pseuds/Rivendell101
Summary: Jughead Jones crosses the wall separating Riverdale from a land of magic in search of a fallen star. He was never expecting the star to be a beautiful young woman named Betty. Intent on bringing Betty back to Riverdale, it becomes a race against time as they’re pursued by pirates, murderous princes, and a witch seeking the heart of the fallen star.But Jughead may just capture it first.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The fun part begins next chapter! This is an AU I've been wanting to write for a while, and I'm glad I'm finally getting the chance to do so! The first official chapter should be up either Friday or Saturday, so stay tuned for that!

The Stormhold had been carved out the face of Mount Obsidio by the first king of Eldervair. The castle’s towers spiral high into the clouds, with the storms and the thunder and lightning. But tonight, unlike most nights, the sky surrounding the black mountain is clear.

The stars watch as the fiftieth king of Eldervair lay dying in his chamber carved from the mountain’s highest peak. He lay a pale, withered husk among the dark stone of the mountain, the chamber like the rotting insides of a decayed tooth. His chest moves shallowly beneath the heavy weight of a bearskin blanket, and the king appears much older and much more fragile than he ever had in his reign of two-hundred years. Death clings to the silent halls as all of Eldervair waits.

As news of the king's waning health spread throughout the kingdom his sons were summoned to his bedside, the living and the dead of them. And they stand respectfully, waiting and shivering in the cold chamber around him, the living on the right and the dead on the left. Six in all. The three on his left held in limbo until the next king is crowned. There was a seventh once, a girl gone missing many years ago. 

When the king speaks it’s with a gravelly voice. “Onto the matter of succession,” he tells the living. “Of my six sons there are three of you left today still standing.” The three brothers exchange looks. “This is quite a break with tradition. I had twelve brothers—”

“And you killed them all for the throne before your father was even in poor health,” finishes the youngest of his sons, Cormac, tall and thin and dressed in black. All of his sons have the same dark hair and darker eyes. “We know, Father.” And the King smiles.

For that is the way it has always been for the sons of Eldervair. The line of succession chosen by those left standing. The Courageous and the cunning. Of the three sons standing before him, each one is responsible for the death of a son the king has lost.

“Brendan,” the king addresses his second son, the most arrogant of the three remaining. “Go over to the window.” The prince hesitates, but does as he’s asked. The wind howls through the high peaks of the mountain as he steps onto the balcony. The night air is cool around him. “What do you see?” his father asks.

Brendan looks at the surrounding mountains, then further out at the forests and the ocean where it meets the sky and stars. “I see all of Eldervair. I see the kingdom. _My_ kingdom.” The king looks to Cormac. The stars twinkle as if in warning. Declan, the eldest of the brothers, watches as Cormac strides to the window and shoves their brother over the ledge. Brendan screams as he hurtles toward the earth.

The king laughs.

A fourth figure joins those waiting on the left side of the bed.

As Cormac returns to his father’s bedside, the king looks between his remaining sons. Declan is shorter, broader in the shoulders, with short, well-kept facial hair. Cormac is taller, more bird-like, and clean-shaven. “We shall settle the matter of succession another way,” the king murmurs. Slowly, he lifts the royal crest of Eldervair from his neck, a large ruby glistening on the end of a silver chain. The king holds the necklace out in front of him.

The two princes of Eldervair watch in awe as the ruby coloring of the gem fades, leaving a clear stone dangling from the silver chain hanging suspended in the air above the bed. The king of Eldervair stares at the stone.

“Only one of royal blood can restore the ruby,” the king tells the last of his living sons. The chain is released from his grasp, but it remains in the air even as the king’s hand drops back onto the bed. “He who does so will be the next king of Eldervair.”

The king’s chest does not rise.

The ruby continues to float in the air above the deceased king. The two princes glance at one another. In an instant, they both lunge towards the ruby. The stone is faster. It zips between their outstretched hands and races towards the window. Declan and Cormac stare after the ruby as it flies off into the sky, into the night. It rises higher and higher between the clouds until it disappears among the stars.

White light bursts across the sky.

A star falls.

* * *

Far from the Stormhold, a hall made from obsidian stone resides deep in the thick of Fox Forest, hidden from the rest of Eldervair. Once magnificent, the hall has decayed in the centuries since it was built. Inside, the darkness and the emptiness pulses like the fragile beating of a weak heart. The chandeliers have long been cold, the candles unlit, and cobwebs now stretch across the walls and the corners of the room. A thick layer of dust covers the hall and the fountain in the center has ceased to bubble with black water.

Outside the hall, an old crone carries a weasel back to the hall, it’s throat slashed open and colored red. It slips from her hand as a blinding flash of light erupts in the night sky. The crone, the last of the Lillim witch queens, stares up into the night with her single eye as the light grows and grows. Her skin is sallow and wrinkled with age, and her once vibrant hair has turned white, save for a single streak of cherry red.

The star descends towards the earth, arcing far over her head and disappearing beyond the horizon passed the mountains. And the witch queen smiles, for she’s waited four centuries for a star to fall again in Eldervair.

The witch queen races inside to gather her things. Ruin stones. Knives made from black glass, so sharp they can cut through anything. And a plain box tightly locked. Once opened the witch is quick to catch a squirming, silver bobble in her wrinkled hands. Not much left of the last one. The warmth of it pulses against her hands and she grins as she swallows it.

Her skin ceases to sag. Sight returns to her blinded eye. The cherry streak in her hair grows, color bleeding back into the strands of white until her youth returns to her in full.

“A fallen star,” she whispers into the darkness of the hall. With a flick of her hand the chandeliers flicker back to life. The fountain gurgles with black water. The cobwebs and dust dissipate. “A _fallen_ star,” she repeats.

And when she obtains the heart of it, her youth will last for a millennium.

* * *

Hundreds of miles away from all of this, outside of Eldervair and across the wall dividing one realm from the next, eighteen year old Forsythe Pendleton Jones III watches with his good friend Archie Andrews as the star hurtles towards the earth. As the shooting star disappears over the horizon in one splendid burst of light the young Jones, instead of making a wish, accepts a dare to cross the wall and bring the star to Riverdale.


	2. Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter follows closely to the movie, but the next parts will stray a little from the film. Enjoy! I didn't have a beta for this fic and ran out of time to edit because I have a grad party to go to today, but any errors should be fixed later tonight.

It’s an unwritten rule, though understood by all. For decades, or perhaps even a century or two, it has been passed down between the generations of those who occupy the quiet, sleepy town of Riverdale.

No one crosses the wall.

To be frank, not many remember why, exactly, they should not cross the wall, simply that the wall is not meant to be crossed. The wall has always existed, even before Riverdale came to reside on one side of it. On the other side is nothing but miles and miles of fields and forests. Or so it would seem.

Standing at seven feet tall, the wall is made of sturdy, grey blocks of stone and runs for a great distance in either direction, so far that the ends have never been found. The wall is indistinguishable from any other wall made from sturdy, grey blocks of stone save for one detail: the gap.

The crumbled gap in the wall is a mere two feet across and is, as far as anyone can tell, the only known hole in the wall. Or, the only one within walking distance of Riverdale. Because of this gap a guard has been posted at the wall at all times. Members of the Keller family have stood proudly before the gap for decades, dissuading young, mischievous folks from running off into the fields beyond.

Forsythe Pendleton Jones III, commonly referred to as Jughead—both affectionately and decisively unaffectionately—is not so easily dissuaded.

But then, Tom Keller is not so easily _persuaded_.

“You know what’s beyond the wall, Sheriff Keller?” Jughead asks the wall guard, gesturing behind him to the gap and the empty fields. “A field. And beyond that? Another field!” Tom Keller looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, but Jughead continues, gesturing wildly with his hands. “And after that it’s probably just another field all the way to the woods! There’s nothing out there.”

Sheriff Keller sighs and crosses his arms and doesn’t move from his spot in front of the gap in the wall. He quirks a brow at Jughead, eyeing him critically, and the younger man shifts under his gaze.

Jughead has always been quiet and sarcastic, but not much of an adventurer. Always content to stay out of sight and sit by himself. Never once in the previous eighteen years of his life has he ever shown any interest in crossing the wall and exploring the other side in search of the old magic that’s part of the town’s folklore. He’s always been more practical than that. A little odd, but a decent boy. There should be no reason for Jughead to want to cross the wall now, and on any other day, if he hadn’t made that bet with _Reggie_ , there wouldn’t be.

“My family,” Sheriff Keller begins slowly, “has been guarding this wall—”

“For six generations,” Jughead finishes for him, rolling his eyes. “I’m aware.”

“—and you’re asking me to just let you cross it?” Keller finishes as if Jughead hadn’t spoken. And it’s a valid question. Everyone knows you don’t cross the wall. Archie had said as much earlier tonight when Jughead suggested he bring back the shooting star that fell.

No one crosses the wall. Jughead Jones is no exception to that.

He is, however, horribly stubborn.

Jughead pretends to think about it. “Yes!” he tells Sheriff Keller. “Because it’s a field.” Tom Keller rolls his eyes and Jughead takes a step forward. He places a hand on the Sheriff’s shoulder and again gestures to the fields beyond the wall. “Look, Sheriff. Do you see anything out there that’s dangerous or magical?” he asks. Sheriff Keller doesn’t speak and a breeze sweeps through the large, empty stretch of land beyond the wall. “No, you see a field. Do you see anything nonhuman? No. You know why?” Jughead doesn’t wait for a response. “It’s a field!”

Keller shrugs out of Jughead’s grasp and purses his lips. “For hundreds of years this wall has been here, Jughead. And for hundreds of years this gap has been under twenty-four hour watch.” Jughead’s shoulders slump. Tom Keller shakes his head, chuckling under his breath.

After a moment, Jughead sighs and nods. He’s very seriously considering climbing the seven feet _over_ the wall but dismisses it quickly, because while Jughead has always been tall and a little gangly, he’s never quite had the upper body strength for climbing. He’s nothing if not tenacious though.

And then Tom Keller says, “Do you really think I’d let you cross the wall just like your father did?”

It’s so soft that Jughead almost doesn’t hear him. “Almost” being the key word here.

He stops analyzing the sturdy stones and his green eyes snap back to the sheriff, wide with alarm. “My father crossed the wall?” Jughead repeats instinctively, turning back to face Keller, who stills.

“No,” the sheriff is quick to respond. “Nobody crosses the wall, you know that.”

“But you just said—”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“—my father crossed the wall?” Jughead glances between the gap in the wall and Sheriff Keller, whose face is pinched in irritation and exhaustion. A typical reaction to dealing with Jughead Jones. And maybe he can use that to his advantage.

Tom Keller is silent for a moment as he stares back at Jughead. “No one did anything,” he says firmly. “Now go on home.”

Jughead sighs a little too loudly. “Yeah, okay.” Sheriff Keller’s eyes widen as Jughead concedes. Typically, the younger man is prone to arguing and Tom was expecting at least one more round of sarcasm before Jughead finally gave up and went home, or sulked at the only pub in Riverdale. What a pleasant surprise. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I am,” Sheriff Keller tells him. The Sheriff watches as Jughead takes a few steps backwards, pulling his worn, brown, wool coat tighter around his skinny frame and fixing the same old bowler hat he’s been wearing since he was a boy. That hat always used to fall into his eyes when he was little. Sometimes it still does. “Goodnight, Jughead.”

Nodding in return, Jughead murmurs a goodnight and turns around to head back up the dirt path to Riverdale, away from the wall. After a moment, the sheriff does the same, turning back to the stool kept just beside the gap.

As soon as the sheriff turns to the wall, Jughead whips around. He races toward the wall, heart beating wildly in his chest and veins buzzing with excitement. Soon he’ll be able to prove to Archie and Reggie and all of the other boys that he can do anything he sets his mind to. Soon he’ll collect the star from the other side of the wall and bring it home. He’ll prove he’s brave.

Jughead gets one foot on the other side of the wall, the farthest anyone has gotten in eighteen years, before Sheriff Keller grabs him by the back of his old coat and yanks him back to Riverdale’s side of the wall. He lands in a messy pile of limbs and hisses when his head hits the dirt path. His hat is knocked off his head and rolls a few feet, kicking up dust.

The sheriff looks down at him as Jughead wheezes. “Forsythe,” he calls Jughead by his full name, making the boy wince.

“Yes?” Jughead asks, staring up at the stars above in disappointment.

“Go home.”

He sighs. The stars twinkle like they’re laughing at him. “Okay.”

* * *

Forsythe Pendleton Jones II is surprised when he returns home late into the night to find his only son sitting at the table in their small farmhouse, a frown pulling at his mouth and a bump growing on the side of his head. FP, as he’s often called, frowns as well and sets down his bag. “What happened to you?” he asks.

Jughead groans and leans his head back against the wall. The dull ache lacing through the back of his skull has been annoying him for the better part of an hour, and he really doesn’t feel like answering his father’s questions at the moment, but all men with the name Forsythe Pendleton Jones are stubborn. And while FP may have the time to wait him out, Jughead really needs to find a way to cross that wall and find the fallen star.

But then, Jughead remembers what the sheriff accidentally told him.

Fiddling with his hat, Jughead flicks off a spot of dirt. “Sheriff Keller.” Frankly, Jughead would feel a lot more sour about getting tossed into the dirt like that if it wasn’t the sheriff. If it had been Reginald Mantle or Marmaduke Mason, of all people, it would have been much worse. Jughead has always been more gangly than the other boys his age, and he never excelled much in fencing when they were still in school.

Reggie and Moose never let him forget that either.

FP’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Tommy did this?” he asks, a harsh note to the works. If nothing else, FP has always been quick to anger and more impulsive than anyone else Jughead knows. Already, his father is throwing down his things and grabbing for the jacket he just shrugged off, intent on having a little chat with the town’s sheriff.

Jughead rolls his eyes. “Dad, stop,” he calls after his father before the older man can storm out and get himself locked in a cell for the night. “It wasn’t his fault. I was trying to cross the wall.” It’s a quiet admission. One that stills FP in his tracks.

For a minute he just stands there, his back to Jughead and his jacket hanging half-way down his arms. FP doesn’t move. He barely breathes. “Why the hell were you trying to cross the wall?” he asks eventually. His father’s tone is low, gravely and a little strained. Jughead can’t see his face, but he can tell from his tone that his father is frowning.

“Does it matter now?” Jughead asks instead of answering. And really, he’s not sure if it does matter. It’s been hours since the star started to fall, and Jughead knows there’s no going through, over, under, or around the wall. Not with Sheriff Keller guarding the gap. While Archie and Reggie never gave him a time limit, Jughead knows sooner is better than later. Other people must have seen the star fall, after all. By now it’s probably gone.

FP doesn’t let it go quite so easily as he turns around. “Boy.” It’s a warning.

Jughead sighs and sinks into his chair. His father waits, frowning, and Jughead bites the inside of his cheek. “There was a shooting star,” he finally explains. “Tonight, when we were at the quarry with some of the other guys. Reggie Mantle called me a coward, so I… made a bet with Archie to bring the star back.”

This time FP is the one who sighs. He runs a tired hand down the side of his face and shoots Jughead a look that’s almost irritated. “Why the hell would you do that?”

There are plenty of reasons Jughead could cite for wanting to cross the wall. Exploration. Proving Reggie and Moose and the other boys wrong. The odd pull he feels from the other side of the wall. Instead, he asks, “why did you?” Jughead stops picking at his hat and leans forward, resting his elbows against the top of the table. “Sheriff Keller told me you crossed the wall.”

“Did he?” FP murmurs

“Did _you_?”

It’s hard for him to imagine. Jughead has heard stories, of course. His father used to be reckless. He used to run with a rougher crowd until he settled in Riverdale and got a job working as a blacksmith. In the eighteen years Jughead has been alive he’s never once seen his father go anywhere near the wall, but sometimes the older townsfolk watch him, look at him oddly. They look at Jughead that way too. Like there’s something strange about them.

Jughead always just figured it was because he never had a mother, but if FP really did cross the wall—

FP sighs before Jughead can finish the thought. He shrugs the jacket from his shoulders once again and looks Jughead in the eyes. “I think we need to talk.”

And talk they do.

FP tells Jughead everything. About crossing the wall when he was only Jughead’s age. About coming across a strange market passed the miles of fields, one that sold odd trinkets and magical things that he’d never seen before. Wonders. Marvels. Miracles. Eggshells filled with storms. Elephants the size of one’s palm. Jars filled with eyes that would move and blink.

But that wasn’t all he found.

While exploring the market, FP came across a small, deserted stall. It was nothing more than a table covered in delicate, glass flowers, each more beautiful than the last. Foxglove and bluebells, apple blossoms and roses, lilies and snowdrops, and others that he didn’t recognize. Flowers that were not from his side of the wall.

He was so busy staring at the tiny, glass flowers that he never heard the woman walk up to him.

“See anything you like?”

His head snapped up in surprise, but whatever he was about to say died on his lips as soon as he saw her. Light brown eyes that seemed to shift color in the moonlight. Messy hair the color of a raven’s wing. A mischievous smile. She was wearing a pretty, blue dress that hung from her shoulders, and for an instant her eyes were the same shade, like the ocean sky on a calm day.

She propped her hands up on her hips, waiting for a response, and his mouth went dry.

“Definitely,” FP murmured absentmindedly, still staring at her. Her smile widened. “I mean—I didn’t—” This time she laughed outright, and FP couldn’t help but grin back. “I was just looking at the flowers,” he told her, “the blue ones.” She nodded slowly and FP swallowed the lump growing in his throat. The bluebells weren’t nearly as pretty as her eyes. They shifted back to brown, then green. “How, uh, how much are they?”

Something wicked flashed in her eyes. “Well they could cost you all of your memories from before you were three,” she warned him. “Or they could cost you the color of your hair.” She leaned in closer to him, lowering her voice. “Or maybe your first born.” She pulled back, mischief in her dark eyes, and somehow he knew she was only teasing. “I can check if you’d like.” She gestured over her shoulder to the yellow caravan behind her. “But you shouldn’t get the bluebells.” FP cocked his head to the side and frowned, about to ask why not, but the girl was faster. Carefully, she plucked a single flower from the stand between them. “Buy this one instead.”

She held it aloft before him. A green stem and a single, white, drooping, bell-shaped flower with six petals. Snowdrop. “It’ll bring you luck,” she told him.

The young woman raised an imploring brow at him and it took FP a moment to remember how to speak. “And what does that one cost?”

“For you,” she said, slipping the delicate glass into the pocket of his coat. “It costs a kiss.”

She tapped two fingers against her cheek, but when FP leaned in to kiss her there she turned and his lips met hers in a gentle kiss that left his head spinning. And then, after making sure her mistress was away, off somewhere in the market, FP let the young woman guide him around the stall and into the caravan. He saw the silver chain curled around her ankle and she told him about the witch that had enslaved her when she was very young. He tried to break it, cut it in two, but the chain simply reformed. Enchanted. Made from cat’s breath and moonlight.

And she locked the door behind them and kissed him again and again until he couldn’t breathe.

FP stops the story there, but the rest is implied. Suddenly, Jughead understands those looks he’s been getting for his entire life, as well as the looks his father gets. Jughead was born on the other side of the wall.

“It’s all true,” Jughead says in awe, as his father opens the chest in the attic he’s always kept locked and hands his son a small object: the flower the young woman gave him. Jughead twirls it between his fingers carefully, smiling when light reflects off the delicately crafted petals. “You really did cross the wall.”

FP chuckles. “I did. And nine months later I got you.” Jughead’s nose scrunches in disgust and FP laughs louder as he hands Jughead the length of silver chain he’s kept all these years. As Jughead inspects the chain and the glass flower, FP turns back to the chest and carefully pulls out something else.

“Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?” Jughead asks softly, glancing at his father before looking back at the glass flower. He trails a finger down the side of the green stem before cradling it in his palm. It’s smaller than he imagined, and more beautiful too, and when he looks at it he can almost picture his mother in his mind. Her dark hair and eyes and her grin filled with mischief.

FP sighs and leans back against the wall. “You came from the other side of the wall,” he reminds Jughead, who nods slowly. “I didn’t want that to define you.”

Jughead nods again in understanding. The people who live in Riverdale have always been fearful of what lays beyond the wall. For FP to not only cross the wall, but have a child brought back to him must have made people talk. Jughead always thought it was simply because it was only the two of them—that he was a bastard—but it makes sense now.

“I have a mother,” he murmurs, still staring at the snowdrop. A breathless laugh tumbles from his mouth as he turns back to his father. “I have a mother.”

The side of FP’s mouth quirks up. “You do.” It’s the widest smile FP has ever seen on Jughead’s face. He holds up the last object from the chest, a small, cylindrical package. “This was also in the basket. I never opened it. It’s for you.”

Jughead frowns as he takes the package from his father’s outstretched hand. It’s a long, black candle with little markings carved into the wax. Curled around it is a thin piece of parchment tied shut with a blue ribbon. Jughead releases the ribbon and carefully unfurls the parchment, setting the candle aside.

_My dearest son,_

_Please know that I only wanted the best for you. Had my mistress allowed it, I would have kept you in a heartbeat. Know that I love you and I hope that someday we will meet again._

_The fastest way to travel is by candlelight. Think of me. I will think of you every day. Always._

He reads the letter three times, letting the words sink into his skin until they’re buried beneath his ribs, ingrained so deep into his heart he’s sure they’ll stay there forever. A part of him is disappointed it isn’t longer, that there isn’t more she had to say, but the curling script is rushed. She didn’t have the time.

Jughead rereads the last line once more as his fingers skims the words. “The fastest way to travel is by candlelight,” he says so his father can hear. “What does that mean?” FP shrugs and Jughead lifts the candle, observing it carefully. Again, he notices the strange markings along the side of it.

It’s from beyond the wall.

Jughead slips the silver chain into his pocket along with the letter. “Do you have a light?”

FP pulls out a match. A flame flickers on the end. Jughead hesitates, fiddling with the glass flower in his hand. He starts to hand it back, but FP shakes his head.

“Keep it,” he tells Jughead, offering him an encouraging smile that’s tinged with something sad. “It’ll bring you luck.” Jughead nods and slips the flower into the inside pocket of his jacket where it rests above his heart. He straightens his hat. “Find your star, Boy,” FP murmurs when Jughead holds out the candle.

“I’ll see you soon,” Jughead promises. For a second, he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do, but then he thinks of the letter— _think of me_ —and of his mother.

FP lights the candle.

For a second, nothing happens. And Jughead thinks harder of his mother, picturing her in his mind and wishing with all his heart to see her. But then— _find your star_.

A blinding flash of light erupts from the candle and FP turns away, covering his eyes with one arm.

When he turns back, Jughead is gone.

* * *

Jughead swears as, for the second time today, he winds up on the ground in a pile of his own limbs. The breath is knocked out of him and he winces as the tender feeling in his head spreads. For a moment, he simply lies there, staring up at the sky through the unfamiliar grove of trees. Stars twinkle above him, brighter than he’s ever seen them. They’re bigger somehow. More beautiful.

His hat has fallen to the dirt again and in his hand the candle is a mere quarter of the size it once was, barely a stub left. Doubtful that he’ll be using it for the return trip. Luckily, he had the sense to pack a bag with enough food to last him a weeks journey.

Eventually, Jughead pulls himself from the dirt, picks up his hat, and rights himself. The woods around him are dark, quiet, and empty.

Why the hell would his mother be out here?

Jughead doesn’t linger on the thought as he scoops his bag off the ground. He stands there for a moment longer, confused, but something tells him to go north.

Jughead stumbles through the darkness for the better part of an hour. He thinks. It’s hard to tell. Time moves differently here than it did in Riverdale. The forest is practically empty and he hasn’t the faintest idea where he’s going, but somehow he continues heading in what he thinks is the right direction. Again, it’s hard to tell. Try as he might, he can’t seem to find the north star in the sky. As a result, he’s simply decided to let his feet guide him where they will.

A horrible decision, really. Jughead has always been a bit clumsy. More so in his youth, but even now he’s prone to wobbling around and tripping over his own feet.

He clutches the stub of candle tighter in his hand. Should he try to use it again? Perhaps it would work if he did. Maybe he used it wrong the first time. There could be an enchantment he’s supposed to use, or maybe whatever magic there was has long since faded. It’s been eighteen years after all. Better not to risk it. The last thing he needs is another fall like before. It could leave him with a broken leg in some unfamiliar forest with no one around for miles in any direction.

Jughead shivers and pulls his coat tighter around himself. He really should have thought about this more before simply lighting the candle and letting it take him wherever it so pleased.

He pushes through the foliage, ducking around the branches and leaves that swing back to hit him in the face. Cursing under his breath, Jughead bemoans how terrible of a navigator that candle really is.

His foot slips suddenly, sending him tumbling head first down a steep hill that he hadn’t noticed a second ago. It’s dirty and devoid of grass and Jughead yelps as he rolls down the side of the hill. His back hits the ground hard and his poor hat is flung out of reach.

Jughead somehow manages to roll onto his feet, but his momentum doesn’t stop. He falls again. Someone screams. Instead of hitting the ground, Jughead lands on something soft and silky and warm. He’s dazed for a moment. His head feels fuzzy and the ground is _really_ warm. Maybe he should just stay here for a while.

The ground beneath him groans.

Jughead freezes. The ground wriggles beneath him and swears. Jughead yanks himself onto his hands and knees, his eyes widening when he sees a bemused, startled woman lying underneath him. Blinking down at her stupidly, Jughead can do nothing but stare.

Mother?

But, no, that’s not right. The woman beneath him is too young, his age at best. And she doesn’t look right either. With soft, wispy blonde hair that’s so pale it’s almost silver and big, green eyes staring at him in alarm, she looks nothing like the woman his father described. She is just as pretty though, if he’s being honest. In fact, she’s probably the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. And he certainly made an entrance.

So, not his mother. But perhaps she’s someone who can help him, as it seems he’s gotten himself rather lost out in these woods.

And then she clobbers him on the side of his head, shrieking and scrambling away from him. Jughead rolls onto the ground, wheezing as he lies flat on his back for a moment.

“Sorry,” he gasps as he sits up on his elbows. Jughead holds up one hand to placate her, warmth creeping up his neck as he realizes he’s made a fool of himself. She continues scrambling backwards in the dirt. “Hi, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!”

She only glares at him. Without looking away, she scoops up a lump of wet earth and lobs it at him. It hits him square in the chest and he wheezes again.

“Oh, okay,” Jughead chokes out, wincing as she balls up another handful of dirt. “We’re throwing mud at me. That’s great.” He struggles to his feet, nodding as he flicks some of the dirt from his old jacket. At least the mud blends in with the dark wool.

Venom flashes in her sparkling, green eyes and she raises the hand with the glob of dirt threateningly. “Go away!” At least, it would be threatening if she was standing up and not lying in a heap on the ground, clutching one leg to her chest. There’s also the matter of her red tinged eyes, like she’s been crying, and the silky, rumbled silver dress draped around her frame.

Why is she wearing such a flimsy gown way out here in the woods? Isn’t she cold out here? And she’s not even wearing shoes! Is that some peculiar fashion beyond the wall or has he simply missed something?

Jughead blinks at her stupidly, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“Are you all right?” he asks her, just as stupidly. She glares at him harder as Jughead straightens his coat and checks on the glass flower in his pocket. It’s still intact, thankfully. A relieved sigh escapes him.

“No,” the woman snaps at him when he turns to see if she needs help. “I’m not all right. Now leave me alone!” She cradles her knee close to her and her dress shimmers in the moonlight, almost glowing.

He holds up his hands defensively until he’s sure she’s not going to throw more mud at him. He considers doing as she asked and leaving her to her business, but she looks sad and small sitting there on the ground, and he doesn’t have the heart to walk away. “Uh, okay,” he mumbles, “well, do you… need some help?”

Her glare returns. “You can help by leaving me alone,” she hisses at him. She brushes her wavy hair away from her eyes, sniffing.

“You’re hurt,” Jughead tries again, gesturing to the way she’s clutching her knee and pouting a little bit. He can’t in good conscience leave her here like this.

She rolls her eyes. “Clearly.” Sarcasm drips from her tone and he sighs. She’s certainly not making things easy, that’s for sure. “Now, are you deaf or do you just choose not to listen?” she asks him. Jughead’s mouth drops open again in surprise, but she doesn’t give him the chance to defend himself. “Go away.”

Jughead throws up his hands in defeat and takes a step back before she decides to change her mind and pelt him with dirt again. “Okay,” he concedes. “Okay, fine.” He turns his back to her and begins searching for his things, which seemed to disappear during his tumble down the hill. The flower is fine, and the letter and silver chain are still in his pocket.

He finds the stub of candle a few feet away in the direction he came from, and pockets what’s left of the wax, frowning when he finally gets a good look at how little is truly left. Yeah, he definitely won’t be using that to get home. He’s not sure what happens when the candle runs out, but he isn’t sure he really wants to find out.

His bag is a little further off, as is his hat, and Jughead sighs as he wipes dirt from the brim before plopping it on his mess of dark hair.

The young woman is still sitting on the ground when he glances over at her again and fiddles with his bag. This spot is as good as any for the night. There’s no sense looking for his mother—or the star—anymore tonight. It’ll just have to wait until morning. “Jughead,” he tells her.

She glances over at him, green eyes irritated. “What?”

“My name,” he explains, “it’s Jughead.” Well, technically it’s not, but he doubts she would care to know his actual name. Besides, Jughead isn’t exactly fond of that one. And, again, stupidly, he holds out his hand to her from halfway across the hole they seem to be in, as if she might shake it from all the way over there. She stares at it like she’d rather touch anything else. He lets his hand fall back to his side, awkwardly clearing his throat.

Predictably, she doesn’t seem to care. “Did I ask for your name?” she snaps at him again. She scoots just a little farther away from him. Her dress is torn and a little burnt at the bottom and it has a strange look to it, though he can’t place why exactly. It’s not like anything he’s ever seen before. Rather shiny.

She is, without a doubt, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. She’s also the most snappish. Though, he probably would be too, had he been hurt and then knocked over by a stranger. At least, he thinks she was hurt first. Hopefully that wasn’t his fault, though he wouldn’t blame her for being irritated if it was.

“Look,” he says, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. “I’m sorry for whatever I did, I’m just a little lost.” She ignores him, and, deciding she’s going to continue ignoring him, Jughead takes the time to look around the area. He glances around at the space he fell into and it takes him a second to realize he’s in some sort of crater.

The divot in the ground is fresh and unnatural, burnt and glossy in some spaces, like black glass. It’s even more perplexing than winding up in a dark, creepy forest while searching for his long-lost mother. Fucking candle. Where the hell did it even take him? It’s brighter here in the crater, no trees to block out the moon and stars, and it makes it easier to see the girl’s dress, which is more blue than silver now that he looks at it. And her hair, while pale, isn’t as colorless as he first thought. She almost looks like she’s shimmering, glowing faintly in the pale light.

Jughead chalks that up to lack of sleep and the hunger gnawing at him. His mind is playing tricks on him.

He takes another look around the crater, spinning in a slow circle. The ground is smooth and warm beneath him, almost hot. But that doesn’t make sense. It’s the middle of the night. The ground shouldn’t still be hot from earlier in the day. The air smells like smoke.

More notably, it’s smoky in the center of the crater, where that girl is curled up on a patch of glossy, black ground that’s glittering almost as much as she is.

Now that really doesn’t make sense, unless…

“Oh my god,” Jughead murmurs, looking around wildly at the crater he stumbled into. “The star.” He spins around on his heel, making a full circle. Yes, this has to be it. It makes perfect sense. It must have fallen here just a few hours ago, just after he used the candle to cross the wall. He fumbles for the candle in his pocket, nearly dropping it in his haste. Jughead holds up the stub in front of him. “Light the candle, think of me…. but the star.” Jughead swears under his breath. He was thinking of his mother, but then his father mentioned the star and—

Jughead turns back to the center of the crater where the girl he knocked down is still sitting. “Excuse me,” he calls to her, dropping onto his knees and feeling around on the warm ground for a lump of rock or a gemstone or something else. He’s not entirely sure what he’s looking for. “This might seem like an odd question, but have you seen a fallen star anywhere?”

She stiffens, clutching her leg closer to her chest. “What?”

“Have you seen a fallen star?” Jughead makes another circle. It would help if he knew what he was looking for. What do stars become when they fall to the earth? A lump of burnt rock? Maybe it looks like nothing. Maybe it hits the ground and disintegrates into a glimmer of stardust.

She blinks at him, then scoffs. “Funny,” she says dryly.

“No, seriously,” he shakes his head. He’s not sure why the candle led him here, of all places, but there has to be a reason. Surely, a bit of stardust isn’t all that’s left. “We’re in a crater!” Jughead gestures around wildly, but the pretty, blonde woman with sparkling green eyes only looks at him blankly. “This has to be where it fell!”

She stares at him.

“Yeah,” she says eventually, nodding slowly. “Actually, this is where it fell.”

His heart leaps in his chest. “Really?”

“Yeah!” she says again, more enthusiastically this time, though her smile is sharper than before, almost sarcastic. “It fell here about an hour ago.”

“You saw it?” He’s grinning like an idiot now and she nods rapidly.

The girl is definitely shimmering now. “Yeah, I saw it. It fell right here.” She gestures around wildly at the deep, smoking crater in the middle of the woods. “And if you want to be really specific,” she points up above them, and Jughead follows her finger to see thousands of glittering stars in the night sky, “up _there_ is where this weird, ugly necklace came out of nowhere and knocked it out of the sky.” She yanks at said necklace around her throat, a big clear jewel on a silver chain. Then she points to the center of the crater, where the ground has turned to a thin sheet of black glass. “Over there is where it landed.” Her finger shifts to a spot just a few feet from where she is. “And right there is where it was knocked down by a bumbling, jittery _moron_.”

Jughead blinks.

The woman stares at him, irritated, green eyes glittering in the darkness.

It hits him suddenly. “You’re the… you’re the star?” She plasters on a fake smile, raising her brows. “You’re the star,” Jughead repeats in awe. “Oh, wow, really?” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I had no idea you’d be…” he gestures to her. Really, he was expecting a lump of rock, not a very pretty, very angry woman. “Wow.”

That certainly does make things a little awkward now.

Jughead takes a deep breath through his nose, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Can I just say in advance that I am terribly sorry.”

The star’s head snaps up, her brows narrowed in confusion. “Sorry for what?”

“This.” Jughead quickly yanks the thin, silver chain out of his pocket and loops it around her wrist, tying it in a tight knot. He stands up and backs out of her reach quickly, and the enchanted chain lengthens to accommodate the distance between them. The star looks at him in horror as Jughead ties the other end of the chain around his own wrist, binding the two of them together. “Now, if I’m right this means you have to come with me.” Guilt pools in his stomach as she tugs at the chain, but he can’t go back to Riverdale without her. “I told Archie and Reggie I’d bring home the fallen star,” he says, though she has no idea who he’s talking about. “I’m keeping that promise.”

A disbelieving laugh tumbles from her mouth. “Oh, of course,” she spits, yanking at the chain around her wrist to no avail, “what better way to prove yourself than to drag home a kidnapped, injured woman!” She drops her hand onto her lap, giving up on untying herself. Jughead has the decency to look ashamed. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

To punctuate her words, the star crosses her arms and levels him with a nasty glare. She folds her legs beneath her and Jughead gets the distinct impression that this is going to be much more challenging than he initially intended. She’s definitely not going to make this easy on him.

Clearing his throat, Jughead glances around the crater, checking to see if there’s anything laying around that he can work with, but all there is is upturned dirt and the stars twinkling above. “It’s too dark to travel right now anyway,” he admits, refusing to look at the smug expression on her face. “We’ll stay here for the night and get an early start in the morning.”

The star doesn’t reply. She turns her back to him and tilts her head until she’s looking up at the stars.

Jughead figures that’s about as close to an agreement as he’s going to get and, upon realizing their conversation is over, strips off his coat and his hat, places his things on the ground, and lies down. Exhaustion tugs at him, and Jughead could fall asleep right then despite the circumstances. The crater is uncomfortable and it’s getting cold, but they’ll have to make due for the night. In the morning they’ll start heading north-west.

Hopefully, they’ll make it back to Riverdale sooner than later.

The star isn’t nearly as ready to rest. She fidgets where she’s sitting, playing with the fabric of her dress and humming lightly to herself. The movement pulls on the chain connecting their wrists and her restless nature keeps him awake as well.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” he murmurs to her, sleep just beginning to tug at his senses.

She glances at him over her shoulder. She’s still shinning, but the light is dimmer than it was before, muted, and he can almost see her frustration in the dull flicker of light. “Not at night,” she huffs. “This is the time when stars have much better things to do.” She uses the hand chained to his to gesture up at the stars and the movement jostles him. “I mean look at them! They’re all wide awake!”

“What things?”

She looks at him again and glows just a little brighter. The soft light reflects in her eyes and his breath catches at the sight. “What do stars do best?” she asks him. Jughead doesn’t have an answer and she returns to looking at the stars. “They shine.”

* * *

A thousand miles away the witch queen stands at a crossroads before a grove of singing trees. Her gauzy, black dress billows around her as the wind whips through the trees, urging her forwards. Her long, scarlet hair is pulled up in an elegant twist and even the wind isn’t enough to blow a strand out of place. She stares at the diverging paths through the forest, red lips pursed in thought.

In one graceful arc, she tosses black ruin stones high into the air, willing them to tell her the location of the star.

She catches the stones in one gloved hand. They tell her all she needs to know.

 

 

 

In the Stormhold, the two living princes of Eldervair both ride out in opposite directions. One rides with a single coach and a team of four white horses, heading west away from the mountains. The other goes far south towards the ocean with five of his men. Each seeks the ruby that would affirm their birthright.

Neither yet knows about the star or that the ruby is heading north-west. But soon they too will be seeking the fallen star and the jewel she carries.

* * *

The next morning is more difficult than the night before. Jughead glares down at the star—do stars have name?—waiting for her to move. He’s been packed for nearly an hour now, and dawn has come. It’s time for them to start the trek to Riverdale. The star, however, isn’t quite so compliant.

She’s still sitting on the ground in front of him. Her lips are pulled into a thin, unamused line and her eyes are narrowed dangerously, almost daring him to touch her. Jughead has half a mind to pick her up and toss her over his shoulder, but he gets the distinct feeling that she wouldn’t hesitate to kick him, even if she does seem to be favoring one leg.

As it is, they’re at an impasse. The star refuses to get up and Jughead has no intention of leaving without her. It’s a battle of wills and he intends to win.

The star swings her arm back, yanking at the chain connecting them, and Jughead stumbles forward a step. Her gaze is smug. “I’m not helping you,” she reminds him. Her tone is less icy than last night, but she’s still twitching like an irritated cat.

She looks different in the daylight. Less ethereal. Less like something out of an eerie dream. She doesn’t glow the way she did beneath the moon, and in the daylight her rumpled appearance is more noticeable. She looks more tired, a little sad, and despite himself that guilt from last night crawls up into his throat.

She looks human.

Jughead would think he imagined it all if it weren’t for the magic candle in his pocket and the silver chain stretched between them. Or the knots in his shoulders from sleeping on the ground all night.

The star, for her part, is absolutely miserable. She’s spent a lot of time looking down at people from up in the sky in absolute wonder. She’s seen marvelous things and terrible things, and she never expected to be experiencing any of them herself. Secretly, she’s always longed for an adventure away from her sister stars, but a Neanderthal with something to prove isn’t what she wanted. Not for the first time, she curses the damn bloody necklace that knocked her out of the sky. This time, she also curses the idiot in front of her who seems to believe _kidnapping_ is a viable solution to his problems. She spent all night trying to pry the chain from her wrist but it’s stuck firm, and she’s beginning to think the only solution to this is to go along with the strange man’s crazy plans.

But that doesn’t mean she’s going to make it easy for him.

He sighs through his nose and sucks on his teeth, trying to figure out something to get her moving. Throwing her over his shoulder is beginning to be more and more tempting. “Well, that’s a shame,” Jughead drawls, his tone catching her attention. “After I showed you to Archie, I was going to let you go home. You know, back to the sky.”

She looks at him like she’s considering yanking the bag out of his hands and beating him over the head with it.

(This is, in fact, exactly what she’s considering.)

“And how,” she begins loudly, folding her arms across her chest as her eyes narrow dangerously, “exactly, were you planning to do that?” Her sarcastic tone isn’t lost on him. The star laughs without humor and rolls her pretty, green eyes. “In case you hadn’t noticed, my home is up there.” She gestures to the sky, purposefully jostling his arm by lifting the one he’s attached to.

Thinking fast, Jughead makes a gamble. He slips a hand into one of the pockets of his coat and finds the stub of black wax. “I was going to give you this,” he tells the star, holding up the candle. “I’ve heard the fastest way to travel is by candlelight.”

Her eyes light up and Jughead no longer has any doubt that she’s a star. “You’ve got a Babylon candle?” She gasps, immediately scrambling to her feet, nearly slipping in her haste.

“Yeah,” Jughead tosses the lump of wax into the air casually and almost drops it a second later, “I have a bubbling candle.”

She frowns at his mispronunciation, but doesn’t comment on it. Instead, her eyes narrow again and she props her hands up on her hips. Jughead tries not to notice the way her silky dress slides over her skin, clinging close to her curves. “That barely has one use left,” she points out, frowning at the candle.

Jughead wants to argue but knows she’s right. It took nearly three-fourths of the candle to get him from Riverdale to wherever they are now. He isn’t even sure it could bring her back home, but it’s the only bargaining tool he has. And it’s not like she has many other options either.

He says as much. “Do you have a better way of getting yourself home?” Jughead snaps. her eyes widen a fraction and he momentarily feels bad, because obviously she’s upset about being stuck here when she should be up in the air. “Because I could just use this now to get us to Riverdale,” he continues, waving what’s left of the Babylon Candle.

The star watches him, biting her bottom lip. Then, she groans loudly. “Fine,” she says shortly, as if it physically pains her to say it.

Jughead tries to hide his smile. “Fine?” he asks teasingly.

She glares at him. “Fine.” This time she practically spits it at him. The star gathers up the long hem of her dress in one hand and takes a wobbling step forward.

“Great…” Jughead trails off awkwardly, unsure what else there is to say. He can’t very well keep calling her the star though, can he? “What’s your name?” he asks suddenly. And again, he wonders if stars even have names. And if they do, are they the same as the one’s humans give them?

The star is taken aback by the question and stops suddenly. For a moment, she simply stares at him, and Jughead shifts awkwardly on his feet. “Betty,” she tells him.

And that’s that.

It takes a little effort to get the two of them out of the crater. The sides are tall and steep and bits of the ground have been made smooth by the heat of the star— _Betty_ —when she crashed into the ground. It’s hard to find footholds and places to pull himself up. Being attached to Betty at the wrist also proves to be a challenge. There’s plenty of yanking and cursing and by the end of it Jughead wants to lie down and take a nap. Betty isn’t that far behind him, but she doesn’t say a word about her ankle and the slight limp she’s sporting.

In fact, neither of them say much of anything for several hours as they trek through the forest, aside from snapping at each other, of course. Jughead isn’t sure how, but he knows exactly where the wall is from where they are. It’s farther than expected, at least a few weeks walk, which could be a problem.

He really didn’t consider bringing much food with him, and now that there’s a second person traveling with him, well, he’s going to have to think of something else. If all goes well, they should be in Riverdale at the end of two weeks time, he can prove himself to Archie and the other boys in Riverdale, and Betty can go back to where she belongs and… shine.

 

 

 

“So let me get this straight,” Betty says as she limps along behind him, trying not to trip over her dress. “You think we’re going in the right direction because, and I’m quoting you here—” she puts on a bad impersonation of Jughead “—I just _do_.” She doesn’t bother to pretend she isn’t mocking him.

Jughead rolls his eyes at her skepticism. “I do,” he snaps back. “Look it’s hard to explain. Maybe I’m just a really good navigator.” Which doesn’t make much sense, considering this is the first time he’s ever left Riverdale before. It’s more plausible than it being magic though. At least the chain and the magical transportation candle and the _human star_ are things he can see.

Betty scoffs at his logic and Jughead bristles. It’s been like this all morning and he’s getting tired of it. “You know,” he starts loudly, stopping and turning to look at her, “your attitude is—”

“ _My_ attitude?” Betty cuts him off. Her green eyes flash with unrestrained anger and he knows he’s said the wrong thing. Betty shoves her loose hair away from her face. “Oh, I’m so sorry if I’m not making this easy for you!” Her sarcasm is palpable. “You kidnapped me!” she reminds him, waving her arms around wildly and yanking him a step forward by the wrist. “Sorry, I’m not your willing hostage!”

“You’re not a hostage,” Jughead corrects her quickly. “You agreed to come with me!” Which, admittedly, doesn’t make things much better given their circumstances.

She huffs out a laugh. “Because I don’t have a choice,” Betty tells him. Her voice is thick with anger and frustration, but beneath that there’s a somber note. Her voice wavers and her eyes are glossy, and for a moment she looks like she might cry. “I want to go _home_.” Her expression is heartbreakingly open and honest for just a second before her expression hardens, covering up that flash of vulnerability.

“And I will get you there,” Jughead replies immediately. The way he says it surprises them both. Firm and honest. He realizes he means it to. “I promise.”

For a moment, it doesn’t look like she believe him. Betty wraps her arms around herself, fiddling with the silver, almost blue fabric covering her wrists. And Jughead waits. He doesn’t know if the candle will work. And if he has to find another one, or a dozen more, he will.

Eventually, Betty nods.

* * *

Betty is getting awfully tired of staring at the back of Jughead’s head. She’s been trailing a ways behind him since they left the crater, partly because she doesn’t want to walk with him, and partly because of her ankle. Each step hurts more than the last and she’s fairly certain she’s broken or twisted something, but she can’t be sure. Stars don’t typically break things unless they end up hurtling to the ground with no way of catching themselves. Staring at the back of his head only makes it worse. She hasn’t the faintest idea why that bowler hat of his irritates her so much, but she’s moments away from yanking the ugly thing off his head and tossing it somewhere in the trees.

She’s getting awfully tired of a lot of things actually, but she doesn’t have much choice in anything that’s been happening lately. Not since that ugly necklace came out of nowhere and knocked her out of the sky. It was dumb luck that it was her and not some other poor star just minding their own business.

Hopefully he’ll keep his word and give her what’s left of that Babylon Candle. Though, she doubts it would be able to get her any higher than the clouds. She’ll probably have to find her own candle to use, and that isn’t nearly as easy as it sounds. From what she’s learned watching people, Babylon Candles are rare, even more so now.

The silence eats away at her. To exhausted for snippy banter, Betty plods along behind him and tries to ignore the incessant tugging on her wrist. That’s another thing she’d like to toss into the forest. That damn magic chain. As if it wasn’t embarrassing enough to be knocked clear out of the sky by a flying rock, she just had to become attached to a moron with something to prove.

Betty hisses as her ankle twinges with pain. Using what little slack there is in the chain, she walks over to the nearest tree—an oak with a wide base and a little hovel between the roots, perfect for sitting in—and plops herself down. It’s mossy here, a little soft, and Betty guesses it’s as good a spot as any to get some sleep.

Jughead only stops when the chain pulls taut.

He glances at her over his shoulder and frowns when he sees her sitting on the ground “What are you doing?” he asks, as if it isn’t blatantly obvious. He takes a step towards her and the chain slackens.

“What does it look like?” Betty questions, shifting to make herself more comfortable. She stretches out her legs and smooths down her skirt. “I’m taking a break.” Yawning, she brushes her hair away from her face, relaxing against the trunk of the tree.

Jughead makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and shifts his weight impatiently. “Come on, we talked about this.” He crosses his arms and sends her a disapproving stare. “We agreed to stop at the next inn we found. There has to be one around here somewhere.”

Betty rolls her eyes. He’s been saying that for the better part of two hours now and there’s been nothing around for miles in any direction. She’s almost positive that they’re lost, but doesn’t feel like arguing about it anymore.

“I’m tired, Jughead,” she tells him plainly. “We’ve been walking all morning, my leg hurts, and it’s the middle of the day.” She gestures above them to the sunlight flickering through the tree branches. “I’m never awake this late.” After all, a star is most active after dark.

Jughead looks at her like he wants to argue, but settles for clenching his jaw and looking extremely displeased. After a minute he sighs and nods reluctantly. “Okay,” he says, surprising her for the second time today. “Okay, fine.” Jughead shoulders his bag and glances around the path they’ve found. Betty isn’t sure what he’s looking for, exactly, but he turns back to her before she can ask him about it. “You wait here, and I’ll see if there’s somewhere around here with some food and a place to sleep.”

“Thank you.”

Jughead gives her another nod before starting off in the direction they were headed in, only to be halted by the chain still connecting the two of them. It yanks him back towards her and Betty fights the urge to roll her eyes again, something that’s been happening quite often since they met last night.

He ignores her expectant gaze and instead concentrates on the magic chain. Jughead slips a finger beneath it an tugs, but nothing happens. Then, he reaches for the spot the chain has connected to itself and pulls at the chain a little harder. again, nothing. “Dammit,” he mumbles, pulling harshly at the chain so that it jingles between them.

Betty’s eyes narrow. “You don’t know how to get it off?” she spits. A rush of anger floods through her veins and she glows faintly in the shade of the tree with irritation. She was right when she called him a moron earlier. If he can’t remove the chain and they’re stuck together indefinitely, they’re really going to have a problem.

She has no issue taking his arm with her if it means going back home where she belongs.

“No!” Jughead is quick to snap back, voice a tad higher than usual. “No, I do.” She quirks a brow. “I do, it’s just…” he trails off. “How do I know you won’t run away?” It’s a poor excuse and they both know it.

Betty tilts her head back to rest against the side of the oak tree and sighs. “I haven’t _slept_ ,” she reminds him, “my ankle is _hurt_ , and I have no idea where we are.” Jughead has the decency to look cowed. “Where would I possibly go?”

He stares at her for a second too long before murmuring, “fair point.” Jughead glances back at the chain around his wrist, staring at it intently as if willing it to just fall off. He lifts his wrist close to his face and Betty nearly groans when she hears him whisper “please?” to the magic chain. She readies another snappish remark only for her mouth to drop open when the chain slides from both of their wrists. It shortens down to its original length and Jughead slips it into the pocket of his jacket.

“Okay.” Jughead straightens his coat and grins at her. “I’ll be back soon. Wait here.”

* * *

On the beach of the White Sea, Prince Cormac stands facing the ocean. The waves are choppy and harsh, a storm brewing far out at sea, and even from here he can see great waves crashing against the jagged rocks further out. He closes his eyes and breathes in the salty air as a cool breeze whips around him.

Two of his men walk up behind him, and between them is the soothsayer that he requested they bring to him. Cormac adjusts his dark jacket to cover the knife on his hip. None of the other men dare to speak first. “You told us to go south,” Cormac says to the soothsayer, who stays silent. “So we went south. And yet.” Cormac turns on his heel, looking down at the aged man standing on the other side of a bowl carved from a washed up stone. He gestures to the wide expanse of ocean behind him and the waves lap at the sand by his feet. “Soon, we’ll be swimming.”

The soothsayer hesitates. “I only read the stones,” the old man tells him. He looks at the prince with one milky eye, the other so pale blue it’s almost silver.

“Read them again,” the prince demands. “This time I want to watch.”

The soothsayer hesitates for a second before nodding and reaching into one of the folds in the fabric draped around him. The ruin stones clatter together in his hand. He looks to the prince, about to toss them into the air.

“Wait.” The soothsayer stills his hand before he can release the stones. “I have another question.” The soothsayer waits. “Am I the sixth son of the former king of Eldervair?”

The soothsayer tosses the ruins into the air and lets them fall into the bowl between them. The white stones rattle around before going still. The symbols carved into one side of them are face up. “Yes,” the soothsayer says.

The prince nods. “Did I have a sister?”

Again, the soothsayer tosses the stones and again they rattle against the bowl. This time it takes them longer to settle. “Yes,” the soothsayer tells him again.

“Is my favorite color blue?”

This time, when the stones land there are no symbols. The Soothsayer looks at him. “No.

“Good.” The prince nods once. “Now one more, and this time throw them higher.” The soothsayer does as he’s asked, tossing the stones high into their air above their heads. The soothsayer realizes too late that it’s a trick. “Are you working for my brother?”

The ruin stones clatter against the side of the bowl. They stop, revealing sides with symbols. Before the soothsayer can move the prince pulls the knife from his hip and thrusts it into the older man’s chest. The soothsayer drops to the ground and the prince looks at the blood staining his knife.

Cormac gently lifts the ruin stones from the divot in the rock, rolling them carefully between his fingers.

“Do we go west?”

He throws the stones into the air.

* * *

Jughead is still gone by the time Betty wakes again. She isn’t sure how long it’s been, but it’s dark and the woods around her are quiet. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she glances around the empty path, but there’s no sign of her companion anywhere.

Despite herself, it makes her nervous. She’s still in an unfamiliar place, after all, and while she may not like Jughead, she’s grown used to his presence over the last day, even if he is an annoying thorn in her side. Still, she appreciates not being alone.

Maybe that’s why she didn’t run off as soon as he left. She meant what she told him. She’s tired and injured, and more than that she has no idea where she is. At least with him she has some idea where she’s going, even if it’s not where she wants to go. Besides, she needs that candle.

Absentmindedly, Betty plays with the necklace resting against her collarbone, wrapping the long chain around her finger. She’s started glowing again now that she’s slept, and the faint shimmer coming from her skin casts a faint light over the path in front of her. It’s not as bright as it should be. In fact, the glow is rather pathetic compared with how brightly she usually shines, but she’s still injured and in a foul mood, so she tries not to think too hard about it.

A sharp, snapping sound comes from somewhere in the trees, a branch breaking. Betty’s head jerks up and the stone slips from between her fingers to rest against her chest. Another branch snaps out of sight and Betty curls tighter against the tree.

“Jughead?” she calls into the darkness. He’s probably trying to scare her, that idiot. And he wonders why she doesn’t want to help him.

She gets no response. Betty shifts uneasily beneath the tree. It’s quiet for a minute and she relaxes, dropping her head back against the rough bark behind her.

 _Snap_.

She jolts, but this time she’s able to pinpoint the sound. It’s coming from the direction Jughead disappeared earlier. Betty purses her lips, annoyance flaring inside her.

“Jughead,” she shouts again. “This isn’t funny!” She expects him to come bumbling out of the brush, snickering to himself about how scared she was, but Betty still doesn’t get a response from the man. An icy grip locks around her heart. “Who’s out there?” It comes out soft and a little nervous, and Betty desperately wishes she had something to defend herself with. At least he had the sense to remove the chain instead of tying her to the tree.

She doesn’t know if she’ll be able to run, but she can try.

Before Betty can lunge to her feet and take off down the path something bursts from the bushes.

It’s not Jughead. In fact, it’s not a person at all.

Betty sighs, sinking back against the tree. “Well, hello,” she coos, stretching one arm out towards the creature that’s come from the forest. She’d think it was simply a wild horse if not for the spiraled horn on its forehead. She clicks her tongue again and the unicorn snorts as it trots towards her.

A beautiful smile stretches across Betty’s face as the unicorn lowers its head, allowing her to stroke its soft, white muzzle and neck. “Aren’t you beautiful,” she murmurs. The unicorn’s breath is warm against her face and Betty’s smile widens, causing her to glow brighter beneath the moonlight.

Silently, Betty thanks the stars.

The unicorn knickers and tosses its head. Slowly, Betty pushes herself to her feet and the unicorn kneels before her. The stars beckon her to climb onto its back and let it take her where it will, as unicorns have always been friends to the stars. She hesitates briefly, looking back the way Jughead left some hours earlier. He’s been gone for hours now. She doesn’t even know if he’s coming back.

Betty climbs onto the unicorn.

* * *

The witch queen stands atop a hill at a crossroads, pacing in circles as she stares at the black ruin stones laying on her palm. They’ve been telling her gibberish. They won’t answer her questions of which direction to turn to. Already, she’s come so far. The star is close, she can feel it nearby, but she doesn’t know where. Briefly, she considers reaching out with her magic and finding the star that way, but she banishes the thought just as quickly. She’s already used too much, first, back in the hall and then later when she enchanted a pair of drunk men, turning them into goats to pull her cart, the wastes of space.

Already, her youth is beginning to vanish again. Spots have appeared on her arms and age lines are starting to show around her eyes.

She can’t wait to find that star and carve out her heart. It’s been too long since the last one.

The witch glances down at the ruin stones clenched in her fist and purses her lips. The goats behind her chatter with each other to her annoyance, but she ignores them, willing the stones to guide her. When she throws them up into the air they scatter wildly, refusing to give her an answer, and she sighs.

For half a moment, she considers tossing them aside entirely, but decides against it. She’s had them for too many years to simply throw them aside the first time they cause a fuss.

She no longer knows what to ask it. The stones won’t tell her what direction the star is headed or how fast. The star could be miles away by now, already gone. It’s as if the star has simply vanished. Or she’s already here.

The witch queen stills. She clutches the ruin stones close to her breast. “Is the star coming to me?” she asks.

The ruin stones answer yes.

Laughing to herself, the witch turns to her cart and goats harnessed to the front. She’s going to make sure that the star’s heart is glowing before she cuts it out.

* * *

Jughead yawns as he makes his way back through the forest, following the path to Betty. It took longer than he expected to find anything out in these woods. It took a lot of wandering before he came across a tavern to the south, and even longer to barter with the owner for some extra food and drinks. He hadn’t meant to be gone so long.

The woods are quiet save for the scuffle of his boots across the forest floor. Not even the crickets are making noise, and there’s a chill to the air that wasn’t there before. The stars are twinkling above rapidly, unnaturally, almost a warning. But Jughead hardly notices any of this, too busy shoving a bottle of rum into his bag to think anything of the odd stillness of the woods.

He’s sure Betty won’t be happy that it took so long. Or maybe she will be. It’s not like she wants to go anywhere with him anyway.

That thought disappears as soon as he catches sight of the spot where he left her. The space beneath the large oak tree is empty and Jughead stills in his tracks. She’s gone. “Betty?” Jughead calls silently hoping she’s just messing with him as payback for kidnapping her a little, even if she did agree to go with him.

Jughead nearly trips over himself in his haste to reach the tree, calling out her name again. He circles around the trunk twice, but, no, she isn’t there. She’s gone.

He’s not sure if it’s fear or disappointment that swells in his chest. She said she’d wait here. Did she run as soon as she got the chance? Did someone else appear while he was gone and take her somewhere? For a moment, he considers using what’s left of the candle to find her again, but without it he has nothing to bargain with. And if she left by her own will it won’t matter regardless.

Sighing, he plops down in the roots of the tree where he left her several hours back. Jughead fishes the bottle of rum from his bag and takes a drink.

It isn’t long before he falls asleep.

Above him, the stars blink furiously.

In Jughead’s dreams he hears a strange voice calling out to him and a star falls to the earth. _Elizabeth is in grave danger_ , the voice tells him. _The unicorn was sent to help her, but they’re headed into a trap._

 _No star is safe in Eldervair_ , the voice continues urgently. Jughead’s dreams flicker until he sees a fallen star lying on the ground. At first, he thinks it’s Betty, but the star is older, her hair darker. _The last to fall was four hundred years ago_. _And she captured by the same witch that seeks Elizabeth now_. An older woman with long garnet hair approaches the star. _She tricked her, helped her_. The star is laid out on a stone alter and smiles, her skin shimmering in the darkness, glowing brighter and brighter until she’s almost blinding. _And when her heart was aglow they cut it from her chest and ate it_. The witch holds a blade made from black glass above the star and—

Jughead lurches awake. A scream sticks in his throat and he scrambles against the forest floor, sitting up in a rush. The stars glow brighter in the sky.

 _A coach is coming_ , the stars tell him. _By any means necessary you must be on it_. Jughead collects his things and forces himself to his feet. In the distance he hears the clattering of horses’ hooves. _There’s no time to waste. Run_.

And he does.

Miraculously, he never stumbles once as he races through the forest, guided by the light of the moon and the stars. The sounds of running horses grow louder and then he spots the coach through the trees, pulled by a team of four white horses racing down the cobblestone path.

He’s too far away. He won’t make it.

The whispered voices of the stars are urgent in his ears and his lungs scream as he pushes himself to run faster, to meet the coach before it can pass him. If he can time it correctly, he only needs to grasp the side and hold on tight, trust the stars to guide him to Betty.

He bursts through the tree line and lunges for the coach, grasping at one of the handholds—

Only to hit the side of the coach hard and lose his grip.

Jughead wheezes as he’s thrown back onto the ground. His chest hurts, as does his back, but neither compare to the ache caused by the disappointed flickering of the stars. It takes him a moment to realize the coach has stopped a dozen feet ahead of him.

A man storms up to him and brandishes a sword at his throat. “Who are you?” he demands, pressing the sword against the side of Jughead’s neck. It’s a tall man, with long dark hair and a well-kept beard. His eyes are just as dark, but far more murderous. More than that, he looks well-off, dressed finely and carrying himself in a way that demands respect.

“Jughead,” he manages to gasp, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. The last thing he needs is be murdered in the woods. Maybe that was the stars’ plans, have him killed for trying to kidnap their sister. That would be his luck. “My name is Jughead. Well, actually, my name is Forsythe, but the only one who calls me that is—”

The man cuts off his rambling. “Did my brother send you?”

The sword nicks at his skin. “No! No, I don’t even know your brother!” he swears. “I’m just looking for my friend. I just need a ride.” The man clenches his jaw and Jughead scrambles to think of something else. “Look, look at me. I’m unarmed. I just want a ride.”

The man looks at him like he might just kill him anyway, but slowly lowers his sword. He sheaths it and glances over Jughead’s sprawled frame. Clearly, he comes off as pathetic rather than threatening, because the man turns away and stalks back to his coach. “Impossible,” he says as Jughead scrambles to his feet and hurries after him. “I’m on a quest of extreme importance.” The man climbs onto the front of the coach, Jughead on his heels.

“All the more reason to take me with you,” Jughead tells him, hoping his father was right and that glass flower will bring him luck. The man glances at him, unimpressed. “Maybe fate brought me to you as it brought you to me.”

The man stares for a moment longer. “Get on.”

* * *

“I mean, who’s to say he was even going to keep his promise about the candle?” Betty asks the unicorn over the drizzle of rain. The unicorn, of course, doesn’t answer, though it does snort and shake its head in what Betty takes as agreement. “I refuse to believe he’s the only person in Eldervair who can help me.” Betty shivers in the rain. “There has to be another Babylon Candle around here somewhere…”

Despite herself, Betty’s beginning to regret leaving, if only a little. As much as she trusts the unicorn, knowing it was sent by the moon to protect her, she still has no idea where she is and no money even if she does find somewhere to stay. At least with Jughead there was a destination and a possible way to get back home. And as annoying as he was, at least Jughead provided conversation, even if it was mostly the two of them bickering with one another. She quite liked being in the company of someone who could respond to her.

She doesn’t share this with the unicorn.

Eventually, Betty’s chatter runs out as she becomes cold and miserable in the rain. Despite how late it is, she isn’t shining at all.

The unicorn simply continues on its way, stepping carefully through the undergrowth until they reach the edge of the forest. The unicorn stops there and Betty is surprised to see lights in the distance: an inn.

“What do you say?” she asks the unicorn, leaning forward to pat the side of its neck. “Should we rest for the night?”

The unicorn snorts again and Betty is jostled on its back as it begins to trot towards the building.

It's set at a crossroads between two dirt roads leading in the cardinal directions and looks new, though Betty can’t tell for sure in the darkness. The rain has picked up as well, and she can hardly read the sign handing above. It’s strange that an inn is all the way out here, but Betty is grateful regardless.

She’s just sliding from the unicorn’s back when a voice calls out from behind her.

“My goodness, dear, what are you doing out here in this awful rain?” Betty glances over her shoulder to see a woman with red hair pulled into an elegant twist coming out of the in. The unicorn shifts beside her, but Betty hushes the creature, patting its flank absentmindedly as the stranger steps out into the rain. Before Betty can utter a word, the woman wraps an arm around her shoulders and starts leading her towards the inn. “Come in, come in. Before you catch a cold. We’ll get you some food and a bath.”

Betty lets herself be pulled inside.

She doesn’t notice the way the woman glares at the unicorn.

She’s a shivering mess by the time the woman gets her inside. Betty is mildly embarrassed to be dripping water all over the floors, but the innkeeper doesn’t appear to care as she guides Betty close to the fireplace where it’s warm. The woman clucks her tongue at Betty’s ripped and worn dress and the way it’s clinging to her slim frame. A chill curls all the way to her bones and the woman smiles at her.

“Lets get you out of your wet things, shall we?” She smiles at Betty. “How does a bath sound?”

Betty manages to smile back through chattering teeth. “Oh, really, you don’t have to—”

“Nonsense!” The woman waves off her concerns and gently squeezes Betty’s arms. “We can’t have a pretty thing like you getting sick, now can we?”

It doesn’t take long for Betty to be persuaded. She’s cold and still exhausted and her ankle has started to ache again, and though she’s never had a bath before, being a star and all, the sound of sinking into warm water makes her heart glow.

Betty isn’t sure how much time passes after she slips into the water. Her silver dress is left in a pile by the fireplace in the room and her hair has been pulled up and away from her face, keeping the pale strands out of the water’s reach. Despite herself, she keeps the necklace on. Though it’s the reason she’s here in the first place, Betty feels oddly responsible for the stone. Possibly _because_ it knocked her out of the sky.

She’s lightly humming to herself, eyes half-lidded as she rests in the water, when the woman from before comes back. Betty still hasn’t learned her name.

“How are you feeling?” the woman asks her, coming to kneel beside the tub Betty is in. She folds her arms atop the rim and smiles. “Is the water hot enough?”

Betty returns her grin. The warmth of the water has seeped into her bones, chasing away the chill from earlier. “Much better, thank you.”

The woman waves off her thanks and dangles an arm over the water, her finger grazing the surface. “And your ankle?” she asks, reminding Betty of the pain she was feeling before. “How about that?” Unbeknownst to Betty, a this vein of magic seeps into the water and curls around her ankle, healing it quickly.

Betty shifts her leg beneath the water and gasps. “That’s amazing,” she murmurs, flexing her ankle as she lifts it from the tub. It feels better than it has since she was knocked from the sky. Confused, she turns to the innkeeper. “How did you—”

“There’s nothing a warm bath can’t fix,” the woman tells her, smiling widely. She leans in close to Betty, pulling her hand from the water and flicking the warm droplets from her fingers. “And I’ve been told I have a healer’s touch.”

Betty hums appreciatively. “Thank you.”

They’re both quiet for a minute. Betty slips deeper into the warm water and closes her eyes, basking in the heat from the bath and the comfort of being indoors. Warmth bubbles in her chest and she sighs, relaxing completely in the bath. The glow that was dampened by the rain returns to her, making her shine more brightly than she has in days.

“You seem happier, my dear,” the innkeeper says.

Betty cracks open her eyes. “Do I?”

The woman nods, humming to herself as Betty closes her eyes again. “Almost glowing,” she murmurs. Betty doesn’t see the woman reach beneath the tub for the knife carved from black glass.

The knock at the inn door startles them both.

Betty sits up in the bath. The innkeeper sighs leaves the knife beneath the tub. She stands slowly and Betty looks up at her. “Come,” she says, holding out her hands for Betty to take and helping her up. The woman hands over a white, fluffy bathrobe as Betty steps out of the tub.

“Get yourself dressed, dear,” the woman tells her, “I’ll be back in just a moment.”

She stalks away without another word.

* * *

Jughead squints through the torrent of rain, holding the horses steady as the prince pounds on the door of the inn. The weather has only gotten worse, and it’s not doing them any good to stand here. “Maybe we should keep going,” Jughead calls to the other man. There’s no sense in waiting out here when either no one is inside or there are no rooms left for the night. Though he can’t imagine too many people find themselves out here.

Before the prince can respond the front door of the inn is opened.

A young man stands on the other side and allows the prince entry.

 

 

 

The prince shrugs from his dark coat as he steps into the inn. Rain water clings to his hair and skin and he sighs as the heat of the fire burning in the corner chases away the chill. Before the fire sits a large, copper tub filled with water and beside it a young woman wearing only a bathrobe. The innkeeper, he presumes.

“Ah, there you are,” he murmurs, eyeing the girl. She’s younger than expected, with blonde hair falling in waves around her face and green eyes narrowed in confusion. “You have terrible service here,” the prince tells her bluntly.

The girl startles, bewildered, and opens her mouth to speak.

She’s cut off by a woman with fiery red hair stepping into the room. She puts herself directly between him and the younger woman. “It seems you’re mistaken,” she tells him. “I’m the lady of this inn, and I won’t have you bothering my guests.” Her smile is thin-lipped and she props her free hand up on her hip. A tray carrying a goblet is held out to him. “Wine?” she asks. “I’ve sent my son to bring some to your companion.”

Declan considers it, but then shakes his head. “No, thank you,” he responds politely, eyeing the cup warily. “Until my brother is dead I drink no wine but my own.” Declan is many things, but he has never been a fool.

(Around him, his dead brothers whisper to each other about the stone the young woman carries. All Declan hears is the rain pattering against the windows.)

The innkeeper’s smile slips for only a moment, but she nods, curtseying. She sets the goblet on the ledge of a nearby table before turning to the young woman. “There’s a room ready for you upstairs, my dear,” she says kindly, “whenever you’re ready.” She moves around the tub to the side Declan is standing on.

“Thank you,” the younger woman says, still looking at Declan strangely. For a moment, she hesitates, and Declan stares back at her. “You look—” she cuts herself off, shaking her head. The movement causes her hair to sway and her robe to loosen, revealing the silver chain around her neck.

Declan frowns back at her. He starts to turn away when she shifts and her necklace catches the firelight. “Hold on.” She stops, half-turned away from him. “That stone,” he murmurs, taking a step towards her. The woman steps back, but Declan continues advancing. “It can’t be.” But it is. She has the ruby. How does she have the ruby?

“That stone,” he repeats, holding out his hand. “Give it to me.”

She continues to stare at him. Her right hand flies up to the gemstone, covering it protectively.

The innkeeper sighs heavily as she crouches beside the tub to pick something up off the floor. “You’re in my way, princeling.”

 

 

 

Out in the stables, Jughead leads the last of the horses into a stall to dry, though he’s still dripping water himself. It’s warmer here in the stables, but he’s soaked through to the bone and he’ll catch a cold if he stays out here for too long. Though, he isn’t sure if he’s supposed to head to the inn or not. After all, he’s merely tagging along and still has to find Betty.

Hopefully, she’s not still stuck out in this weather by herself.

The door to the stable opens and Jughead’s gaze snaps to the figure that slips in. It’s a short, thin man maybe a few years older than he is, with wide blue eyes and close-cut blond hair. He hardly looks at Jughead at all as he slides up to him, carrying a tray with a single mug. He offers it to Jughead wordlessly.

Jughead offers him a tight smile as he grabs the mug, the thick scent of wine coming from the drink. “Thank you.” He nods at the other man. “I’m Jughead. You?”

The other man only stares at him. It’s only for a moment, but it’s long enough to make Jughead’s skin crawl. There’s something unnerving about those pale blue eyes that look straight through him. And then it’s over. He turns around and heads back out the way he came. Jughead makes a face and watches him leave, choosing to ignore the odd display.

Perhaps that’s normal on this side of the wall, though, Jughead highly doubts that.

Shaking the odd behavior aside, he straightens his coat and leaves the horse’s stall, careful not to spill the wine handed to him. If nothing else, it should help to warm him up a little.

Jughead lifts the mug to his lips.

A distressed whinny and a loud bang make his head snap around. At the very end of the stable a white horse he hadn’t noticed before bursts from one of the stalls. Wood splinters as it crashes through the door. The spiraled horn atop it’s head seems to glow in the light of the lanterns. Jughead’s eyes widen.

The unicorn barrels towards him, snorting and tossing its head, and Jughead barely dives out of the way in time to avoid being skewered by the beast’s horn. The mug is knocked from his hands onto the cobblestone floor. Jughead lands rather painfully beside a pile of hay.

He really needs to stop falling.

Jughead braces himself for the unicorn to charge again, but it only stomps at the ground. The unicorn lifts one leg and paws at the air towards something to his right. Following the unicorn’s gaze, Jughead stiffens as he sees the ground smoking where the wine splashed across the cobblestones.

“Poison,” he murmurs, remembering the age old tale of unicorn’s being able to detect toxins. “Wait…” his gaze slides back to the unicorn as he recalls the stars’ warning. “If you’re here…” His eyes widen. “Betty.”

Jughead scrambles off the ground and bolts out of the stable, running towards the inn. He barely notices the still pouring rain, the cold overshadowed by the icy hand of fear gripping at his heart and squeezing it.

“Prince Declan!” Jughead bursts through the door. “The wine is—” It’s too late. A woman with red hair walks up behind the prince and draws a blade of dark glass across his throat before any of them can react. His body hits the ground with a terrible thud, but Jughead is already looking for someone else.

He spots her standing on the other side of the copper tub, staring in horror at the body on the floor. “Betty!”

Wide, green eyes snap over to his. Her gaze is wild, frantic, but tinged with relief when she sees him. “Jughead?”

Jughead runs to her and she reaches for him. He grabs her by the arm, yanking her towards the exit, but before they can escape the woman—the _witch_ —waves her hand and green fire erupts around the room, surrounding them. One by one the exits are cut off and wind billows around the witch. Her garnet hair comes loose and whips around her face. Jughead places himself between Betty and the witch, still brandishing her knife now dripping with the blue blood of the first prince of Eldervair.

Betty clutches his hand so tightly that her fingernails break his skin. He can practically feel her fear as she pressed close to his side. Jughead’s heart is in his throat as the witch frowns at them.

“The glowing heart of a star at peace is so much better than your fearful little heart,” she tells Betty, advancing on them. “Better than no heart at all.”

Jughead swears under his breath. What are they supposed to do? He glances around the room wildly, looking for anything they can use to get them out of this. Outside, the unicorn screams, unable to get in. The green flames grow higher and higher until they’re nearly suffocating, though there’s no smoke.

 _The flames_.

Jughead wraps his arms around Betty, tugging her close to his chest. “Betty,” he murmurs against her ear, fumbling for the candle in his pocket, “hold me tight and think of home.” Her fingers dig into his back and her eyes squeeze shut. She buries her face against his shoulder. The witch laughs and raises the knife over her head.

As she swings the knife down, Jughead yanks his hand out of his pocket and into the fire raging around them. The flames sear his skin and Jughead screams and clutches Betty tighter. The Babylon candle sparks to life and in a blinding flash they’re gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Be sure to leave a comment and let me know your thoughts! Chapters should be up every Saturday!


	3. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to anyone reading this and even more thanks to anyone that's left a comment so far, I really do appreciate it. This chapter was a bit of a struggle to write and I still don't have a beta, so please forgive a few grammatical issues, which should be fixed shortly.

Betty’s scream rings in his ears and her fingers bite into his shoulders. What’s left of the candle fizzles out in his hand and Jughead swears under his breath as the two of them are immediately drenched in rain. The torrent is so thick that he can barely see and the raindrops sting his eyes. He’s lost his hat somewhere, probably for good now, and he’d be properly annoyed by that if he had any idea where they were.

The ground moves unsteadily beneath them and for a moment Jughead feels like he’s floating, his feet unable to find solid earth. For a second, he believes it’s just a side effect of the candle. For a second, he believes they’re back in Riverdale and he can finish this bet with Archie and Reggie and move on with his life. And for just one second he believes that he’ll never have to deal with witches or unicorns or murderous princes ever again.

Life isn’t quite that simple.

Jughead releases Betty and shoves his sopping hair away from his eyes to squint through the darkness only lit by the twinkling stars above them. He’s greeted with the sight of clouds. Lots and lots of clouds.

Oh, so they are floating. Excellent.

It takes him a moment to process the fact that he and Betty are simply hovering among the clouds—which he’s pretty sure isn’t something they should be able to do, but nothing makes sense in this world beyond the wall—and somehow aren’t plummeting right back to the ground. They’re _floating_. They’re so high up that Jughead is almost certain a fall from this height would kill them both. Or perhaps it would only kill him, considering Betty was knocked out of the sky once before.

“What did you do?” Jughead shouts over the wind and rain, glaring at Betty furiously through the downpour. The affect is dampened by him looking very much like a drowned rat.

The look Betty sends him is just as nasty. “What did I do?” she asks loudly over the rain. She shoves him, sending him wobbling backwards on the cloud. “What did you do! Think of home? What a great plan!” A bitter laugh escapes her. “I thought of mine and you thought of yours and now we’re stuck halfway between the two!” She gestures around wildly at the space around them, nothing but clouds and lightning farther off in the distance.

“Why would I mean think of your home!” Jughead snaps back rhetorically. The entire plan was for them to go to Riverdale first, and then he would find a way to get her home. Now they’re both stuck here and they don’t even have a Babylon Candle to get themselves out of this mess.

Betty scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You just said home!” She shoves her soaked hair away from her face, the rainwater making her pale gold hair darker than usual. “If you wanted me to think of yours you should have said that!”

This time, Jughead laughs. “A crazy lady with a knife was going to cut your heart out and you want me to be more specific? I didn’t exactly have time for a detailed plan! Did you want me to write it all out on paper?” If there was anything else around other than clouds, he’s pretty sure Betty would throw it at him.

Instead of tossing chunks of the clouds at his head, she huffs. “Just do something!”

“Like what?” Jughead asks her. “I don’t have the candle anymore! And now we’re stuck here! You’re the one with experience falling from the sky, maybe just try that again.” That one may have been a bit too far judging by the near lethal glower she sends him.

“Well that’s just great!” Betty grasps the necklace at her throat, not deigning to comment on his jab. “You’ve damned us both!”

“ _I’ve_ damned—” Jughead is cut off by the roar of thunder and in the distance the sky lights up with a flash of lightning. “You know what? Next time, I’ll just let the witch cut out your heart, how does that sound?” A little gratitude for saving her life would be nice.

Betty laughs again. “Oh, I’m sure you’d like that wouldn’t you? This is all your fault anyway! If you hadn’t kidnapped me—”

“I didn’t kidnap you! You agreed to come with me!” They’ve been over this already. And while, yes, Jughead technically may have used abnormal means of getting her to come with him, it was still of her own volition. Granted, now his bargaining piece is gone. “And if it wasn’t for me, we’d both be dead right now!”

Betty opens her mouth to respond, her green eyes venomous, and Jughead readies himself for whatever she might throw back in his face—

He yelps when a heavy net drops down on top of them.

The two of them swear and swat at the net, trying to shove it off them, but it’s too heavy. Jughead gets a leg tangled in the rope and trips, falling directly on top of Betty, who shrieks and tries to shove him off of her. The two of them end up in an ungraceful pile of limbs and Betty succeeds in elbowing him in the gut more than once—he doesn’t think the second time was an accident—as the two of them are dragged off their feet.

They end up dangling in the air and Betty’s head knocks against his chin. He gets an arm stuck through the net and only registers the burning feeling in his hand when it slams against something hard and solid. The pair of them are hauled up and over the edge of a floating ship and dumped onto the floor unceremoniously. It’s hard to see between the netting and the rain stinging his eyes, but it’s definitely a ship.

As if things couldn’t get more bizarre.

Figures crowd around them, all clothed in dark raincoats with goggles pulled over their eyes. Betty curls in on herself, pressing close to the side of the ship behind them as Jughead stares at the strangers with wide eyes. Lightning flashes around them, illuminating the massive balloon above them.

“Well, well,” one of the strangers crouches down in front of them, “what do we have here?” He removes his goggles to look at them better, revealing long, dark hair and bright blue eyes. The young man glances back and forth between Jughead and Betty.

Another man looks over his shoulder and squints at them as he folds his arms over his chest. “A couple of Lightning Marshals?” he asks the first man, unsure. Jughead can’t get a good look at his face behind the hood and goggles.

The first man shakes his head. “They don’t look like Lightning Marshals.”

Jughead opens his mouth to say that they definitely aren’t Lightning Marshals, whatever those are, but Betty latches onto his arm and digs her fingernails into his skin, effectively shutting him up.

“Well, why else would anyone be up here in the middle of this storm?” The second man waves a hand through the torrent of rain and a deep rumble of thunder booms through the night as if in answer.

Jughead isn’t sure if these people are pirates or crazy or both, but he’s had just about enough of nearly being killed for one night.

The indistinct chatter of the pirates cuts off abruptly as a looming figure crosses the deck. “Maybe for the same reason we are.” The two men stop examining Jughead and Betty. They glance over their shoulders at the man towering over them and Jughead follows their gaze to the tall figure, who shoves back his hood without a care for the rain. A dark scowl is what greets them. The man is well over six feet tall, with a rounder face and Asian features. He observes the pair of them for a moment before pursing his lips, clearly unimpressed. “Take ‘em to the brig,” he tells the crew.

When the lightning flashes again, Jughead catches a glimpse of a dark tattoo peeking out over the left side of his jacket.

The man crouching in front of Jughead surges to his feet. “You heard the captain! Take ‘em below!” The pirates hurry to yank the netting off of them, tossing it aside, and Jughead and Betty are hauled to their feet roughly. Betty gasps and Jughead considers fighting back, but thinks better of it when he sees how many of them there are. “And the rest of you get back to work! We’ve got lightning to catch!”

_Lightning?_

Jughead frowns in confusion as he’s shoved after Betty. As they’re dragged away, he catches a glimpse of long, metal nets fanning out behind the vessel, drawing lightning right towards the floating ship. Before he can dwell on it, Jughead is shoved below deck and nearly trips over himself.

* * *

Prince Cormac stares down at the body of brother, throat slit and blood drenching the front of his body. A quick death. That’s more than he would have gotten from his brother. “Well, well, well,” he murmurs, staring into glossy, dark eyes the same color as his own, “the last brother.” He nudges the former prince’s foot with his own, pursing his lips. “Pity I wasn’t the one to kill you.” Now he’ll have to hunt down whoever did, as stated by the laws of the kingdom. Whoever spilled royal blood won’t live long enough to regret.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” he continues talking to the corpse, curious as to how he ended up here in a vacant field, nothing around for miles in any direction. “I’m king.” Cormac kicks his brother one last time before turning his back on him to face his party of men. “I’m king!” The men cheer in response as he strides towards him.

Around him, the ghosts of his deceased brothers stare after him, shaking their heads. The ghost of Declan follows on his brothers heels, smirking to himself. “Not so fast, Brother,” he murmurs, though Cormac can’t hear him. “You’re not king yet.”

As if hearing him, Cormac stops abruptly. “Damn,” he swears under his breath, glancing back at his brother’s body. “I still need the stone.” Curse his father for falling ill when he did. Given just one more week, Cormac could have killed Declan himself and spared them all the trouble of seeking the royal ruby. Pity the old man had to die so quickly.

“He doesn’t have it?” one of his men asks.

Cormac glares at him. “Why don’t you find out?” He gestures to the body with one leather clad hand. The man goes to do as he’s told. Sneering, Cormac watches him go. A hand grasps the hem of his long jacket and Cormac whips around, drawing his blade as he lashes out, hand fisting in the collar of a young man’s shirt.

The short, blond man holds up his hands defensively, blue eyes wide with fear as Cormac presses the edge of the knife to his throat. A thief perhaps, waiting to rob his brother’s body. Or someone who knows more than he should.

“Where is my stone?” the prince demands. Either the boy knows something, or he’s useless, in which case Cormac has no qualms with leaving his rotting body in this open field.

The boy stutters, glancing between Cormac and the body of his brother. “That man,” he babbles out, gesturing to Declan, “your brother. I heard him speak of a stone.” Cormac presses the knife tighter against his jugular and the boy grabs the sleeve of his coat in twitchy fingers. “Yeah, there was a girl. She had it.”

“What girl?” Cormac questions, a deep frown pulling at his lips. Declan has never been one to travel with a companion. And for some girl to have the stone… “Tell me!”

The boy’s eyes widen a fraction. “Just a girl,” he explains, shrugging nervously. “She got away.” He gestures to the field. “This was a trap set up for her. Your brother just walked into it.”

“A trap set by whom?”

Gulping, the boy leans in despite the knife and lowers his voice to barely a whisper. “A woman you never want to meet.” His gaze is wild, jittery as it sweeps across the area, as if searching for the woman. “She’s gone now. She took your brother’s coach.”

The prince’s eyes narrow further. “This woman wanted my stone?” The stone is useless in the hands of those not belonging to the royal family. They could sell it, of course, but it’s treasonous. Cormac will have this woman’s head, both for the death of his brother and the thievery of that stone.

But the boy shakes his head. “No, she wanted the girl’s heart,” he corrects, much to Cormac’s confusion. “She said the girl was a fallen star and she wanted to cut out her…” he wets his lips and glances around nervously. “She was planning to—”

“Eat it,” Cormac finishes for him. “Do you know what that means?” he asks the boy, who shakes his head. “Everlasting life.” They’ve all been told stories about the power of a fallen star. Immortality. “King forever.” Cormac removes his knife from the boy’s throat, but fists a hand in his collar before he can pull away. “You’re coming with us.”

 

 

 

In the coach, the witch queen seethes, grinding her teeth together as the horses are steered by her magic. The ruin stones have become useless like before, but this time the star isn’t coming to her. It’s simply vanished. Cursing her luck, the witch fists as her thinning hair. She’s aged rapidly since losing the star. The taste of youth she had mere days ago has bled away. Her hair is growing white again. Her skin has sagged. The vision in her one eye has become clouded once more.

The star is no longer on this earth, but she’s far from done. The Babylon Candle can’t save her again. And she’ll deal with that boy too. He was certainly unexpected before.

She will rip out the star's heart and swallow it, even if it’s the last thing she does.

* * *

Jughead shifts awkwardly, trying to flex his hands where they’re tied behind his back. It’s been hours since the pirates dragged him and Betty down here, and tied them up back to back. His hands are starting to feel numb and he’s become increasingly aware of the burn where he shoved his hand into the fire earlier. He hasn’t had the time to properly look at it, but it can’t be good.

He wiggles around again on the box he’s sharing with Betty and she makes an irritated sound in the back of her throat.

“Would you stop twitching?” she snaps at him when he does it again. Betty cranes her neck around to glare at the side of his head. It’s the first thing she’s said since they were caught in the pirates’ net, and Jughead pauses at the sound of her voice. She sounds exhausted, and while snappy, there’s an odd tinge that he can’t place.

It’s a struggle not to fidget again. “Sorry,” he murmurs back. “I’m uncomfortable.”

“Oh, because I’m not?” she asks, the sarcasm practically dripping from her.

“No, that’s—that’s _not_ what I meant and you know it.” He tries to look at her over his shoulder, but her hair is falling around her face loosely, damp and wavy. Jughead turns back to the wall, jiggling his foot nervously. “Do you really want to pick a fight with me now when there’s nowhere for us to go?” he asks Betty.

She doesn’t answer.

He isn’t sure if the silence or the arguing is worse. Though, if he has to question it, he supposes he already knows the answer.

Jughead’s gaze wanders around the brig they were shoved into earlier, but it’s too dark to see much of anything aside from wayward flashes of lightning through the single window in the room. He can still hear the pirates moving around above deck and the crack of thunder every few minutes as the crew chases the storm.

It is dreadfully boring being tied up with nothing to do but stare at a stain on the wall or argue with a woman he’s only known for two days, including the time she ran away from him.

“They’re going to kill us aren’t they?” Betty murmurs. She shifts so that her hair is tickling the back of his neck above the collar of his shirt. “We’re going to be murdered by pirates.”

Jughead tries to flex his hands again, but the two of them are stuck tight. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. What luck, escaping a murderous witch only to be immediately caught by murderous pirates. The snowdrop clearly hasn’t done him any good. “What are the chances we ran into pirates, of all things.”

Betty huffs. “Considering how well all of this has been going? Pretty high.” He can’t see her, but he knows she’s rolling her eyes at him. Strange, how well he knows her mannerisms after so little time.

“I can’t believe it’s been two days already.” Jughead taps his foot and bites his bottom lip. When he made that bet with Archie and Reggie, he really wasn’t thinking about how long it would take. He also didn’t plan witches or pirates or princes. And he certainly didn’t plan for the fallen star to be a girl his age that really doesn’t like him much. If he’d known bringing a bit of stardust back to Riverdale was going to be this much of a mess, he never would have agreed to do it in the first place.

Betty tries to look at him. “Why are you in such a hurry anyway? What’s waiting for you back in this Riverdale of yours?”

He stares at his lap. “I’m not in a hurry, I just…” Jughead shrugs, accidentally jostling them both. “I’ve never been away from home this long,” he finally admits. “Or my friends, for that matter.” While he may not get along with everyone in his little town, Jughead has always been fond of it. It’s the only home he’s ever known. His family has lived there for generations and never left.

“The friends who sent you to kidnap me,” Betty clarifies dryly. There’s a hint of amusement in her voice, and Jughead realizes she’s only teasing him this time.

He laughs weakly. It always sounds worse when she says it. “Yeah,” he tells her, “that would be the friends.” Though, he wouldn’t exactly call Reggie or Moose his friends. More like acquaintances that liked to make a fool of him during fencing lessons.

For a minute, Betty doesn’t say anything. And then— “Tell me about them?”

Jughead’s head jerks around in surprise at the request. With wide eyes, he cranes his head to look at Betty, only to find her looking at him as well, an expectant look in her eyes. For a second too long, Jughead just stares at her, sucked in by the color of her eyes, brighter than anything else in the brig. His mouth goes dry and he forces himself to look away. “Well,” he says, “first there’s Archie.”

He tells her everything there is to know about Riverdale and the people in it. He talks about Archie, how they’ve known each other since they were children and how he’s always looked out for Jughead, defended him from the other boys that liked to tease him. He talks about Reggie and the other boys and how he’s always felt like he was behind them in so many ways. He was never good at sports, but he was smart and witty, and that tended to get him into trouble. Jughead explains what happened that night on the hill, when they saw the star— _her_ —falling from the sky and Jughead said he would bring it back to them, just to prove that he could.

He tells Betty about his father and what little he’s learned about his mother, how he was trying to find her until the candle took him to the star. How now he’ll probably never be able to find her.

Jughead talks until there’s nothing left to say and dawn is breaking over the horizon.

“So… you crossed the wall and came all this way just to prove people wrong?” Betty asks him when he’s finished. Outside, the storm has quieted, and Jughead can hear the rustle of her bathrobe as she tries to turn and look at him again.

(Admittedly, Betty thinks it’s all a little bit silly. She’s been watching people for years and years and never quite understood their need to be brave. She’s watched plenty of great adventures, acts of heroism, acts of true love, but never once did she ever think she would be caught up in one herself.)

Jughead sighs. “I was tired of them calling me a coward,” he admits. All his life, he’s only wanted to be brave, something greater than himself. “I mean, I just figured I’d find a lump of celestial rock and be done with it.”

“And instead you found me.” Betty giggles and Jughead laughs as well.

“Yeah, yeah I did.” It really was the most unexpected thing. Even now, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to explain this to his friends, or if they’ll even believe him when he reveals the star is Betty. He has no proof aside from what he’s seen and what she’s told him. But that might not be enough.

One of Betty’s bound hands bumps up against his. “You know,” she begins, an amused note to her voice, “there’s a difference between being brave and being an idiot, right?” He can hear her smile. The small room is illuminated by the faint glow coming off of her.

“I suppose you’re calling me an idiot?” Maybe she’s right. He was an idiot for thinking any of this would turn out well. He’s in way over his head with all of this.

“Absolutely.” He laughs. “But you also came all this way just to prove yourself,” Betty says. “That’s more than the rest of your friends can say.”

Neither of them say anything for a while after that.

“Hey, Betty? I—”

Before Jughead can finish, the door to the brig is thrown open. His gaze snaps to the door and the faint glow from Betty disappears as quickly as it came. The sunlight that streams in from above deck is blocked by the massive figure standing in the doorway. Jughead holds his breath as the pirate captain from before steps into the room and slams the door shut behind him. As the loud bang crashes through the room, lanterns hanging from the ceiling spark to life, offering just enough light for them to see. Jughead stares at the lantern and the flickering flame, mouth dropping open in confusion.

“Can everyone do magic here?” Jughead murmurs, pulling his gaze from the pirate to the shadows flickering on the walls. Is that how this ship is flying?

“Parlor trick I learned when I was younger,” the pirate tells them absently as he sits down on the steps, blocking the only exit. “One my father taught me.” He looks different in the light, no longer drenched in rain. His features are sharper, his eyes darker, and Jughead can see the beginning of a scar peeking above the collar of his shirt, silver with age. There are more scars littered across what little of his arms Jughead can see, all aged though the pirate looks only a year or two older than Jughead is.

In the light he can finally make out the tattoo on the side of the man’s neck. It’s a coiling snake, heavily detailed and so realistic Jughead could almost reach out and touch it. There’s another tattoo on his right wrist, a dark, heart-shaped locket with delicate initials scrawled across the top, though Jughead can’t make them out. He could swear the heart is beating gently, but chalks that up to a trick of the lantern light.

The pirate glances from Jughead to Betty, then back again. “Lets skip to the part where you tell me who you are and what you want.” He pulls a short, steel knife from the sheath at his side and Jughead’s heart lodges in his throat. This time there’s no candle to save them. The pirate stares at them both expectantly. “I won’t ask a second time,” he tells them.

Jughead believes him. “I’m Jughead,” he manages around the growing lump in his throat. If the pirate thinks anything of his odd name, he doesn’t show it. “And this is Betty.” She jiggles one of her hands in something reminiscent of a wave. And because Jughead doesn’t want this pirate getting any ideas, he’s blurts out, “my wife.”

Behind him, Betty makes a face and digs her elbow into his spine.

Quirking a brow, the pirate glances between them again, then snorts loudly. “Your wife?” he repeats, a touch of amusement to his tone. “I’m sure.” Outside the doors, Jughead can hear the pirate crew shifting around, listening in on the conversation. “And what are you and your wife doing here?”

“Just taking a walk. You know, the usual.” The pirate captain purses his lips at Jughead’s sarcasm and clenches his jaw. Jughead’s eyes widen when the snake tattoo on the side of his neck suddenly moves. It blinks one eye at him slowly and Jughead could swear it smiles at him. “Wow, okay,” he murmurs as the snake uncoils itself from the side of the pirate’s neck and disappears beneath the collar of his shirt. Jughead freezes when the snake curls around the pirate’s wrist and hisses at him. “That’s not normal.”

Firelight reflects off the blade in the pirate’s hand as he stands from his spot in front of the door, towering over Jughead and betty, still bound back to back on top of a low barrel. “Should I ask again?”

Before Jughead can say something idiotic and get them both killed, Betty crams her elbow against his back again and speaks up as he hisses. “It was an accident,” she tells the pirate honestly.

Because, really, that’s what it was. Neither of them intended to wind up hundreds of feet in the air, but it was certainly better than the alternative. Though, had either of them known they would escape a witch only to end up in the hands of pirates, perhaps Jughead would have rethought their escape plan.

Namely, he would have had one.

But it’s late for that, and the captain is looking at them like he doesn’t quite believe them. It’s doubtful that he and Betty will make it out of this mess, considering they no longer have the candle, but murdered by pirates isn’t too bad, all things considered. There are certainly worse ways to die.

The snake around the pirate’s wrist flicks its tongue out and Jughead pales. “You accidentally ended up a thousand feet above the Wandering Sea in the middle of a storm,” the pirate clarifies, skeptical, “right as my vessel was flying through?”

It does seem like an awfully large coincidence. He would call it fate if not for the pirate captain holding a knife in his face.

“I can see how that might seem suspicious,” Jughead admits. The snake hisses at him, barring its teeth. “Considering you thought we were… Lightning Marshals.” Whatever that means. Do they look like Lightning Marshals? After all, Jughead is a bit too gangly and awkward to appear threatening and Betty is still in a bathrobe. “But we don’t know what that is. Though, I’m guessing you’re doing something very illegal, so I understand the concern.”

Jughead winces and behind him Betty mumbles something under her breath that he doesn’t catch. The pirate does not look impressed.

“That’s not to say we have any issue with you doing illegal things—if what you’re doing is even illegal in the first place. I mean, you are a pirate, so I assume it’s illegal, but I wouldn’t know I’m…” Jughead swallows, aware that he’s babbling. “I’m not from around here.” The snake hisses at him again and Jughead shifts. “Could you please tell your snake to stop hissing at me? It’s making me—”

“How did you get up here?” the pirate asks, taking pity on Jughead and cutting off his rambling.

Opening his mouth again to respond, Jughead yelps as Betty’s fingers find his own and give them a sharp pinch. Perhaps he should let her do the talking for now. “We were using a Babylon Candle,” she explains plainly, forgoing the details of the witch and why they were being chased. “Or, what was left of one.” She soothes the little crescent marks on Jughead’s hand by gently brushing her fingertips across his knuckles. “There was only a stub left and we were in a hurry. We didn’t mean any harm, I swear.”

The pirate hums in thought as he twirls the knife in his hand. “And it sent you up here? Babylon Candles only take you where you _want_ to go. What was up here that you needed to get to?”

“There was a… misunderstanding,” Betty clarifies. Jughead snorts. That’s certainly putting it lightly. The pirate looks at them blankly, his eyes narrowed in thought. Betty shifts. “You don’t believe us?”

The pirate looks down at the locket tattooed on his forearm. “No one’s seen a Babylon Candle in over a decade,” he informs them, tracing the initials in the tattoo with a finger. “No one but witches anyway. And believe me, people have looked everywhere for them.” He drops his hand from is wrist and the snake on his arm coils into a tight ball just beneath the sleeve of his shirt. “So why don’t you tell me the truth. You say you’re not Lightning Marshals, so what are you? Liars? Spy’s for one of the Martinez brothers? A warning from that witch Penny Peabody? Start talking, before I decided to snap your fingers one by one.”

“I’m guessing we wouldn’t like you when you’re angry,” Jughead murmurs under his breath, half-joking.

“Jughead,” Betty hisses back, exasperated.

The corner of the pirate’s mouth twitches. “You should listen to your lady friend,” he tells Jughead before turning back to Betty. “How’d you get stuck with him?” He nods towards Jughead, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It’s an interesting story actually, I—”

“Okay!” Jughead says loudly, cutting off Betty before she can tell the man that he may have kidnapped her. “Okay, look, we’re just trying to make our way home to Riverdale on the other side of the wall, all right? That’s it, I swear. We’re not Lightning Marshals, whatever that is. And we’re not working for some witch.”

Frankly, he’s had about enough of witches at the moment.

The snake stares at Jughead for a moment longer before slithering back up the pirate’s torso to whisper in his ear. All Jughead can hear is a quiet hiss, but the pirate stills, pursing his lips in understanding. Outside, the other pirates are still listening intently, and the captain glances at the door as the snake continues to whisper to him.

As he shifts, something in the inside pocket of his coat catches the light. It’s just for a moment, but Jughead squints to see it. His mouth drops open when he gets a good look.

“You have a glass flower?” he blurts, still staring at the single green stem with delicate white blossoms. So similar to the one safely tucked inside his jacket. For a moment, he thinks it’s snowdrop as well, but there are too many blooms. The pirate’s gaze snaps to Jughead and his jaw clenches. “I have one too! Where did you—”

The pirate’s fist cracks across his jaw hard enough the Jughead bites his tongue.

“Jughead!” Betty shouts, trying to crane her head around to look at him as Jughead spits blood onto the deck.

The pirate brandishes his knife in front of Jughead’s face, dark eyes alight with fury. “You really should have kept your mouth shut,” he snaps, loud enough for the crew outside to hear. “It’s a long way down!”

 

 

 

Outside the door, the crew scrambles away from the door and up the stairs leading above deck. They race to the edge of the vessel in time to see the captain hanging out of the open window shouting at the figure he’s just thrown from the ship. The body disappears through the clouds quickly. The crew scrambles away from the edge as the captain turns to glare at them.

They’re feigning cleaning the deck when the captain drags the woman from the brig. She’s kicking and screaming, throwing curses at the captain, and while most of the crew eyes them warily, by the wheel, Joaquin and Fangs exchange a look. Both notice the loose way the captain is dragging the girl and how little panic she truly seems to be in, even as the captain demands to be left alone until they reach the trader port later in the day, and that he’ll have the heads of anyone that dares to disturb him.

“Think any of them will notice?” Fangs murmurs as the rest of the crew hurries to get back to work.

Joaquin shakes his head, hiding a grin as he straightens his coat and pushes away from the railing. “They never do.”

 

 

 

In the captain’s quarters, the pirate drags Betty into the room and slams the doors shut behind them, locking them in one swift motion. He yanks Betty upright as she wobbles, unsteady on her feet.

Jughead stares at them from near the windows at the back of the vessel, clothed in nothing but his white undergarments and clutching the glass flower in his hands.

The captain releases Betty and leans back against the door, his mouth pressed into a thin line as he glances between the two of them. “Start talking.”

* * *

Betty watches the pirate warily as she settles onto one of the available chairs around a small table. A sigh of relief slips from her lips as she sees Jughead, undressed and unharmed save for his bloody lip, standing awkwardly by the window. A part of her doubted that the pirate was telling the truth when he cut them loose and shoved Jughead into a tunnel leading from the brig to his quarters on the other end of the ship. She thought for sure that the surly captain was going to force Jughead out of the window to a long fall; certainly, she wasn’t expecting him to pull out a mannequin and demand that Jughead strip down.

It’s been quite an odd day, to say the very least.

Slowly, her gaze slides back to Jughead, still fidgeting in his underclothes and looking rather uncomfortable. She catches his eye for a moment before he looks away, a rosy hue coloring his cheeks. She bites her lip to keep from smiling and turns her gaze out the window, admiring the view now that the storm has passed. She hadn’t realized how impossibly high up they are, or how large the vessel truly is.

The pirate drums his fingers against his arms, waiting impatiently for them to speak now that no one is listening in. Why he’s hiding them from his crew, she has no idea.

It’s Jughead who speaks first. He clears his throat, carefully tucking his glass flower through one of the buttonholes of his thermal. “I thought you were going to throw me overboard,” he jokes, sending the pirate an awkward smile.

The pirate looks Jughead up and down and purses his lips, unimpressed. “I considered it,” he says blankly. The snake tattooed on his neck flicks out its tongue and eyes Betty with interest. She holds the snakes gaze, unsure if she’s fascinated or deeply disturbed by the ink having a mind of its own.

“Why didn’t you?” Jughead asks, rubbing at his jaw. “And did you have to hit me?”

Glaring, the pirate sighs through his nose. “Do you want me to change my mind?” His fingers twitch towards the knife strapped to his hip in warning.

Jughead is quick to shake his head. “No, thanks.”

“Then shut up.”

Jughead slinks over to the table Betty is sitting at and drops onto the closest chair. The pirate pushes away from the door and walks over to the large windows spanning the back of the ship, offering a wonderful view of the horizon in the distance and the sea below. Betty fiddles with the sleeve of her robe, rather uncomfortable in the clothing now that they aren’t in immediate danger.

Really, the bathrobe isn’t practical attire, given their circumstances. She really wishes she’d had the time to slip back into her dress before that witch tried carving out her heart, but oh well. More than that, her feet have really started to hurt. Is walking always that painful?

Jughead is eyeing the pirate like he plans on saying something that will only get the both of them in trouble, and Betty clears her throat, gaining the men's attention.

“Who are you, exactly?” she asks the pirate, who she still hasn’t learned the name of. She’s fairly certain it’s customary for humans to introduce themselves, yet they still don’t know his name. Though, he is a pirate. That may explain it. “And what is this?” Betty gestures around them at the walls of the ship.

Though she wouldn’t tell either of them, it feels good to be in the air once again. Being up on the deck was the most free she’s felt in days.

The pirate looks at her over his shoulder and his expression softens when he sees the genuine curiosity in her gaze. “You can call me Sweet Pea,” he introduces himself to Betty.

Jughead snorts, gaining their attention. Betty sends him a stern look and the pirate quirks a brow. Jughead coughs awkwardly, shifting under the looks. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “just… Sweet Pea? Really?”

Sweet Pea’s jaw clenches. His fingers brush against the hilt of his knife. “Is there a problem?” he asks Jughead lightly. The warning in his tone is clear and Betty closes her eyes, shoulders slumping as she leans back in her chair.

“No!” Jughead says quickly. “No. It’s a, uh.” He clears his throat. “It’s a very nice name.” His voice is a tad higher than usual.

Sweet Pea stares at Jughead for another second, seemingly considering tossing from the window again. It’s then, sitting in a bathrobe at a table in a pirate’s quarters after nearly having her heart cut out and eaten, that Betty decides that Jughead is incredibly awful at first impressions.

It’s also then that Betty decides that, for some reason she cannot fathom, she finds this endearing.

Thankfully, Sweet Pea seems to decide that tossing Jughead overboard isn’t worth the trouble. Slowly, his gaze slides back to Betty as he leans back against the ebony desk positioned in front of the window. “This is the Serpentine. She’s the fastest flying vessel this side of Eldervair,” he explains.

Betty nods slowly, trying to wrap her head around all of it. “And you… catch lightning?” she asks, recalling what they were doing the previous night. Curiosity gets the best of her. She’s never met anyone so at ease in the sky like she is, but these pirates seem perfectly at home this far from the ground.

Sweet Pea chuckles under his breath. “Clearly you don’t know how much it’s worth. People will pay good money for a single bolt. But it’s regulated by the Lightning Marshals, so we stick to the nastier storms.” He glances from Betty to Jughead. “You two aren’t even the first people we’ve caught in this sort of weather. Though usually they’re with a ship. Now, you said you had a Babylon Candle?”

Betty nods slowly, frowning at the change in subject. “We used the last of it getting stuck in the clouds.” She keeps it vague, unsure how much she should tell this stranger. While she doubts the captain plans to harm them, they can never be too careful. It’s an awfully large coincidence that the candle took them to the exact location of a bunch of storm chasing pirates.

He’s quiet for a minute, just staring at the two of them, and Betty shivers. The snake tattoo on his neck is coiled into a tight ball near his collarbone, watching the pair of them closely, tongue flicking out periodically. It’s unnerving. Finally, Sweet Pea crosses his arms. “Who were you running from?”

The question is sharp, cutting straight to the point, and Betty tenses. Beside her, Jughead goes still and inhales sharply. The captain doesn’t waste time, it seems.

Neither Jughead nor Betty can find their voices and the room suddenly feels so much smaller.

“We weren’t—” Jughead cuts himself off, sputtering nonsensically.

Betty’s grasps the necklace around her throat, squeezing it tightly. “Why would you think we were—”

“Sweetheart,” he cuts her off, almost amused in the way he looks at her, “you’re in a bathrobe.” Betty drops the necklace and wraps her arms around herself self-consciously. “If you had the time, you would have changed.” He gestures with his chin towards Jughead. “And his hand is burned. So I’ll ask again. Who were you running from?”

Jughead stays silent and Betty bites her cheek. Briefly, she wonders if she might be able to lie through her teeth—but Sweet Pea was right. People don’t just end up in the clouds wearing bathrobes unless they’re in some sort of hurry, especially if they have a Babylon Candle. Clearly, they were desperate when they lit it.

Her lips press into a thin line. “A witch,” she admits, practically spitting the word. Silently, she hopes he won’t ask why. For all their power, a star cannot tell a lie. She hadn’t known before how dangerous it would be to reveal herself to humans, but since being kidnapped and nearly having her heart cut out, Betty’s learned to be less trusting. In all her time watching humans she’s learned that they can be greedy and cruel, that they can destroy themselves and others for power; but she’s also seen them love in the most pure ways. She’s seen them hope and dream and protect one another.

This pirate may have spared them both, but she can’t be sure his mind wouldn’t change if he discovered what she was.

A long silence follows her admission.

“All right,” Sweet Pea says, pushing away from his desk. Betty’s eyes widen as he comes to stand in front of them, towering over both her and Jughead. “And where are you planning on going from here? If you’ve pissed off a witch it won’t be long until she catches up with you. Nasty bitches.”

He spits out the word witch the same way Betty does.

Jughead’s eyes narrow in confusion. “Wait,” he murmurs, looking from Sweet Pea to Betty and then back. “You’re going to help us?”

The pirate shrugs, looking passed them out one of the windows. “I hate witches,” he says, as if it’s that simple. Betty can’t help but think there’s something more to it than that. Help doesn’t simply come that easily. “And clearly you two aren’t from Eldervair.”

“Is it that obvious?”

Sweet Pea raises a brow. “You nearly pissed yourself when my tattoo moved.” The snake on his neck flicks its tongue again and Jughead shifts, only proving the pirate’s point. “Which means you haven’t seen one before. Odd, considering how popular live ink is.” Sweet Pea exhales heavily through his nose. “Frankly, the two of you could use any help you can get. It’d be a shame for a pretty thing like her to end up dead.” He gestures with his chin towards Betty, who blushes, much to Jughead’s annoyance. “And you?” He glances at Jughead, looking him up and down, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You look like you could barely hold your own.”

Jughead’s expression is nothing short of offended. “I could to!”

Betty covers her mouth to hide a smile. Sweet Pea is several inches taller than Jughead and nearly twice his size. As much as she’d like to believe her companion could handle himself, she’s always watched him trip over his own feet multiple times since they met, much to her amusement.

Sweet Pea waves off Jughead’s complaints. “Where is it that you two want to go?” he asks again.

Jughead sighs, clearly exasperated, and asks, “can you take us to the wall?” He crosses his arms, his eyes narrowed in annoyance, and Betty fights laughter.

Sweet Pea shakes his head. “No.” Jughead opens his mouth, probably to argue, but Sweet Pea holds up a hand, silencing him. “But I can get you close,” he finishes. “In three weeks, we’ll be porting on the coast near Brolga. From there it’s about sixty miles north to the town of Market. Then another two miles west to the wall. We can take you that far.” Before either of them can thank him, Sweet Pea turns away and grabs one of the torches on the wall beside the doors. “It’s about time we find you both some clothes.”

He twists the torch sideways and a secret door opens, revealing a hidden room filled with an assortment of clothing. The pair stand from the table in surprise, mouths open in awe.

Betty and Jughead both begin to protest until Sweet Pea sends them a look. Betty glances at Jughead, who glances down at her. Both are suddenly very aware that one of them is in nothing but a bathrobe and the other has stripped down to their undergarments.

“Fantastic,” Jughead murmurs, following her into the large closet.

* * *

Betty hums to herself as she smooths out the fabric of the pretty, dark blue dress she found tucked into one of the rows of fabric. The color reminds her of the night sky and shimmers faintly in the sunlight pouring in through the windows. It’s more fancy than her old dress, less fit for a star, but certainly more appropriate for a lady. The shoes she found pinch her feet, irritating her, but surely it’s better than walking around barefoot like she has been.

Overall, she feels much better than she has since she first fell from the sky. Her ankle is healed, she’s clean, and she isn’t in immediate danger. It’s an odd change of pace, but she rather enjoys it. Though, without that Babylon Candle she has no idea how she’ll be getting home.

Her stomach swirls sickly at the thought that she’ll never return home with her sisters, that she might be stuck here on earth, always fearing for the safety of her heart. It’ll be an awfully long and lonely existence.

She’s just putting the final touches on the delicate bun she’s pulled her hair into when someone begins pounding on the door to the office. It startles her, and Betty grasps the stone around her neck reflexively, taking comfort in the weight of it between her collarbones. Strange how it’s become something she relies on when just days ago she hated the thing. Though, Betty supposes it’s the only thing she has left from before she fell to earth, even if the necklace is the cause of this entire mess.

Sweet Pea rushes out of the closet, dark coat billowing around him. He curses under his breath when one of his crew continues to bang on the door. Quickly, his gaze snaps to Betty and he holds out one hand towards her, beckoning her to follow as he throws open the doors to his office.

“Come on,” he murmurs gruffly, moving his fingers impatiently.

Betty fists one hand in the heavy fabric of her dress, carefully raising the hem so not to trip. Sweet Pea places a hand on her back when she’s close and guides her down the hall leading above deck. She glances over her shoulder towards the doors behind them. “But what about—” He shoots her a stern look and she cuts herself off. Right, Jughead’s supposed to be a secret. “Where are we going?” she asks instead.

“To see an old friend.” They breach the deck and with wide eyes, Betty watches as the crew hauls a large container off the ship. She hadn’t even realized they docked. Sweet Pea guides her to the gangplank, Betty nearly jogging to keep up with his longer strides. “A fence. We sell him the lightning we catch, and he sells it to whoever wants it.”

“Why not just sell it yourself?” She glances over the side of the plank to the rocks and churning water below. Excitement blooms in her chest at being so high up and without realizing it she begins to shimmer faintly, nothing more than a trick of the light.

Her gaze shifts to Sweet Pea when he chuckles. “Easier to get caught that way.”

Betty nods in understanding as Sweet Pea leads his crew to a large, stone building close to the cliffs. A trading port. Perhaps she might be able to find—

“Are Babylon Candles truly that rare?” she asks.

Sweet Pea glances down at her. “The only ones who have Babylon Candles these days are witches and royalty,” he explains to her slowly. “And you’d be hard-pressed to get one from either. And even then the cost wouldn’t be worth it.”

She fights back a sigh of frustration. She’s had just about enough of witches already for one lifetime. “Have you ever seen one?”

He hums quietly, losing himself in thought for a moment. “Once,” Sweet Pea tells her, “when I was younger. They weren’t so uncommon then. My father bartered one from a witch in Market, traded everything for it. His ship. Thousands of bolts of lightning. All because she told him it would bring him his greatest desire. It’s only a miracle that I managed to by the ship back and restart the business. The old fool.”

“Did it? Bring him his greatest desire?”

Sweet Pea shrugs. “I don’t know. He died before I ever found out. Took it to the grave with him.”

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, though death and loss are things she’s never encountered. She’s watched others grieve though, saw the way it consumed them and ripped out the hearts of humans.

“He was a mean bastard,” he says, brushing aside her sympathy. Before Betty can speak, he continues, clearing his throat. “Now, there’s a few rules you need to follow. Our fence is a little odd. Don’t talk to him, he’ll scam you into buying something.” Sweet Pea waits until she nods before continuing. “And don’t touch anything. You don’t know where it’s been.”

She frowns in disgust as he leads her the front door of the building. around them, the crew is looking around anxiously, trying to block the large canister they’ve carried from the ship from view. There’s no one else around, but their caution makes Betty equally wary of the place.

It has an odd feeling about it. Like the inn from last night. Something like magic hangs in the air.

Sweet Pea knocks twice on the front door.

For a moment nothing happens, but then there’s a series of clicks as the door unlocks and swings open wide. There’s no one on the other side.

Gathering up her dress, she goes to step inside only for Sweet Pea to yank her backwards again. When she sends him a quizzical look, he bends down until his mouth is level with her ear. “Betty,” he says lowly, using her name for the first time. “Don’t go looking for a Babylon Candle. You won’t find one.” It’s a clear warning. Pursing her lips, she nods, deciding to trust him on this. As much as she wants to go home, the captain knows better.

Satisfied with her response, Sweet Pea allows her to step into the fence’s building. His hand settles on her back again, and while his men drag their crate into the building and slam the door closed, Sweet Pea leads her deeper into the shop.

Whatever Betty had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t this. The shop is filled to the brim with trinkets and items for sale. There are crates like the one the pirate’s are carrying. Wagons suspended in the air. Things she doesn’t even recognize. It’s cluttered, but organized in some odd way. She doesn’t get much of a chance to look around as she’s lead to the very back of the shop to an office.

Sweet Pea doesn’t knock. He simply shoves the door open wide.

On the other side, a scraggly looking man jumps at the sudden intrusion. His gaze snaps to the door, his eyes wide and rimmed with dark bruises like he hasn’t slept in days. He’s thin, with mousy brown hair that’s falling in his eyes. There’s a twitchy look about him, not nervous exactly, but cagey and unstable. He can’t be any older than Sweet Pea is, but he looks worn out.

“Sweet Pea!” the man greets the pirate, holding out his arms wide. His coat falls open, several sizes too big for his frame and thread-bare in places. “My good friend!” He steps forward as if he plans to hug them, but drops his arms after one look from Sweet Pea.

Betty glances up at Sweet Pea, who looks like he’d rather be somewhere else. “Kurtz,” he says with significantly less enthusiasm. “You look… well.” The man most certainly does not, but Betty decides to bite her tongue on that. “Finally decide to kick the—”

“Not a chance.” Kurtz looks right passed Betty to the crate the crew is carrying in. “Now, what have you brought me?”

The office is large enough for them all to fit, and Betty finds herself hovering off to one side as the men barter. Kurtz is crouched in front of the crate, tapping it thoughtfully with his knuckles and squinting to get a better look. Sweet Pea watches him, arms crossed and lips pressed into a thin, annoyed line.

“Ten thousand bolts,” he says, “Fresh from last night’s storm.”

Kurtz squints at the container, running his finger along the side of it. “Fresh. Right. Well lets have a look, shall we?” Betty turns to him curiously as the fence rises to his feet and reaches for the twist-lock. He removes the top and Betty gasps as she sees a white crackle of electricity. It sparks, jumping around inside the confined space, but Kurtz looks less than impressed as he reseals the container. “I don’t know,” he says, making a face. “You said it was fresh. It looks a little undercharged.”

“Do you need a better look?”

“No. No, that won’t be—”

Kurtz cuts off when Sweet Pea takes a smaller canister from one of the crew. Sweet Pea aims it over Kurtz’s head and releases the lock. Lightning flashes in the office as a single bolt erupts from the canister and strikes one of the objects hanging from the walls. It snaps from the hook it was hanging on and crashes to the floor.

Sweet Pea grins smugly as he caps the empty canister.

“Okay. Thank you for that, really,” Kurtz says dryly, brushing off his clothes and wrinkling his nose at the burnt smell in the air. “I appreciate it.”

“Does that look fresh enough for you?” Sweet Pea asks.

Betty turns away to hide her smile.

Kurtz lets out a slow breath as he stares at the larger crate filled with lightning. “I’ll tell you what, how does one fifty gintz sound?”

“For ten thousand bolts?” Sweet Pea chuckles and shakes his head. “Two hundred.” Kurtz scoffs in response to the raised price, though he looks longingly at the barrel of lightning. Sweet Pea exchanges a look with the pirate who first caught Betty and Jughead last night. He raises his brows. “Pack it up and lets take our business elsewhere,” Sweet Pea tells the crew.

“Whoa, hey, wait! Just wait!” Kurtz reaches across the crate to grasp Sweet Pea’s arm and keep him from turning away. Sweet Pea frowns, but doesn’t pull away like Betty expects. Kurtz bites his lip, staring hungrily at the crate. “Seeing as this is excellent quality,” he says, “I’ll give you one-sixty. Best offer.”

Sweet Pea pulls his arm from Kurtz’s grip and snorts. “Two-hundred,” he says again. “And that’s being generous.”

Kurtz crosses his arms and frowns. “One-eighty.”

“Two-hundred.”

“This isn’t how bargaining works. I’m changing my answer.” At Sweet Pea’s blank look, Kurtz sighs. “One-ninety-five.”

Sweet Pea nods and holds out one hand. “Deal.” They shake on it and Sweet Pea squeezes the other man’s hand a little too tightly. “And we’ll just round that up to two-hundred.”

Kurtz rolls his eyes. “Right, brilliant. Love doing business with you.” He gestures over his shoulder. “Go put it in the back.”

As the crew takes the crate deeper into the office, Kurtz nudges Sweet Pea’s elbow, gesturing for the pirate to follow him. Betty watches them out of the corner of her eye, pretending like she isn’t listening in as she examines an odd, iron structure.

“Have you heard the rumors?” Kurtz murmurs, glancing around to make sure no one is listening. “Everyone’s talkin’ about a fallen star.” Betty inhales sharply. Her gaze flicks over to the two men. “You get your hands on one of them you can retire. Pay off that debt.”

“A fallen star?” Sweet Pea repeats. As if feeling her eyes on him, he looks over his shoulder at Betty, who’s quick to turn away. “No, I haven’t heard anything.” His gaze lingers on Betty as she plays with the silver chain around her neck, fiddling with it nervously.

“Nothing?” Kurtz scoffs, shaking his head. “You’ve been up in the clouds too long. Everyone’s going on about it. Especially down at the market. They’re sayin’ it’s the first in nearly four hundred years. No one’s ever seen the likes of this.”

This time Sweet Pea scoffs. “The one by the wall?” Kurtz nods. “You’re wasting your time, Kurtz. Folks that far west never know what they’re talkin’ about.”

“Really? Because Penny’s the one who—”

“Like I said,” Sweet Pea cuts him off, voice hard, “you’re wasting your time.”

And then, without another word, Sweet Pea collects his money and turns on his heel. He crosses the room to Betty (who attempts to act as if she hasn’t been listening to their conversation), places a hand on her back, and leads her from Kurtz’s shop.

* * *

The walk back to the ship is quiet. The crew isn’t nearly as boisterous as before, in fact, most are silent as they plod back to the docked vessel. Sweet Pea is the quietest though, his mouth pressed into a thin line and his expression closed off and harsh. He simply guides Betty to the ship and makes no mention of his discussion with Kurtz the fence.

He does, however, pull a small, glass flower from the pocket of his coat and drag one rough finger over the smooth stem.

Betty says nothing about this, knowing she wasn’t meant to see.

That doesn’t stop her from looking.

It’s much like the one she’s seen Jughead hold from time to time. The one his father got from his mother. The flowers are different, though both are similar colors, a soft white. Jughead’s she recognized as snowdrop, a single dropping bloom on a stem. And while she doesn’t get a good look at Sweet Pea’s, she’d venture to guess she already knows the answer.

There’s an uproarious cry from the crew as they cross the gangplank and Betty’s brows furrow in confusion.

She nearly trips over herself when she sees _him_ sitting on the deck, lounging on a barrel with his legs kicked up. His green eyes find hers easily and he sends her a subtle wink. Embarrassingly, Betty is unable to close her mouth for a moment in surprise.

The crew begin to draw their weapons when Sweet Pea releases her and steps forward. “Stand down! This is my cousin, the fearless buccaneer Forsythe Jones!”

It’s Jughead. At least, she thinks it is.

The man in front of them looks nothing like the awkward, clumsy boy she met in the crater, save for the familiar hue of his eyes and the color of his hair. He looks handsome, if she’s being honest. Betty hadn’t had the opportunity to see him after they were led into the large closet hidden in Sweet Pea’s office, so she’s taken aback by his appearance now. Gone is his frayed woolen coat and stained clothes. In place of the clothes tossed overboard with the mannequin is a white, pressed shirt and grey vest, dark pants, a leather belt, and clean boots that go to his knees. Over that is a long, white jacket that fits him much better than the old one.

Betty can hardly focus on anything else as she looks him over twice. It’s not the clothes that surprise her most, it’s the confidence in his shoulders that wasn’t there when she last saw him.

She inhales sharply when he smirks at the crew.

“Cousin,” he greets Sweet Pea, standing slowly from the barrels. “I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

They grasp arms and slap each other’s backs and the crew is as confused as she is, but don’t question it. Sweet Pea releases Jughead and turns back to his men. “He’ll be traveling with us until we port at Brolga. Until then, we treat him as our own!”

The crew cries out their agreement.

Jughead catches her eye again and grins at her, winking again. Betty shakes her head but smiles back.

Things move quickly after that. Sweet Pea pretends to introduce her to Jughead and then sends them off to walk the length of the deck. Some members of the crew watch them closely, odd looks on their faces, and Betty wonders if they recognize Jughead from the night before, despite the darkness and the storm. If any of them do, they show no signs of it. Eventually, they all go back to their business.

Betty plays with the stone around her neck as she and Jughead talk. She doesn’t tell him about what Kurtz said, about the rumor of a fallen star, figuring it best not to talk about it. Jughead, however, tells her all about the magic Sweet Pea worked on changing his appearance. He didn’t do as much as Betty expected. A change of clothes. A hint of magic to make his hair grow.

The rest was all just Jughead.

“You look good,” Betty tells him as the sun fades over the horizon, casting a dusky glow over the sky and sea below. The stars are just beginning to wink awake. She leans against the railing on the side of the ship and stares at their reflections in the water. “I hardly recognized you with clean clothes.” She resists the urge to tease him about his undergarments this morning, but her smile must give her away.

Jughead snorts and shakes his head. “Thank you, for that. Much appreciated.” He glances at her, grinning, and Betty laughs. He’s quick to turn back to the water. “Sweet Pea said I could keep the suit. It doesn’t fit him anyway.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

Jughead bumps her with his shoulder and she giggles again.

The water below grows darker and their reflections soon shrink and disappear as The Serpentine rises higher into the air. It’s a clear night, not a single cloud and on the horizon the sea and sky melt into one another, burnt orange and violet.

The pair lapse into comfortable silence and Betty closes her eyes against the sunset, breathing in the scent of saltwater. They stay on the deck until the colors bleed from the sky and everything goes dark save for the glow of the moon and stars. It basks them in silvery light and Betty sighs, content, so close to home, but not close enough.

She doesn’t see it, but Jughead watches her. His lips twitch upwards at the edges as she begins to shine much like her sisters above. It’s still faint, but growing stronger. His throat constricts at the sight and he forces himself to turn away before he can be caught openly gaping at her like a fool.

(Betty doesn’t notice, but from across the deck Sweet Pea does.)

“That glass flower of yours,” Betty says suddenly, gaining Jughead’s attention. She opens her eyes slowly and meets his gaze. “Sweet Pea has one too.” He mentioned it this morning, though at the time Betty was unable to see it. “Did he say anything about it while he was helping you?”

It isn’t clear to her why she’s so curious. She simply is. Perhaps it’s because they’ll be traveling with him for the next few weeks. Or perhaps it’s because he’s helping them when he has no reason to do so. He claims to hate witches, and that’s something else she doesn’t understand. Besides that, Kurtz mentioned someone named Penny, whom Betty can only guess is the same woman that Sweet Pea initially accused them of spying for.

She always did want to solve a mystery.

But Jughead shakes his head. “No. I figured he’d hit me again if I asked.” He sends Betty a wry grin. “I’m sure he got it at the market like my father did. I doubt there are many people selling them. And it’s probably magic.”

“Do you think it’s special?” Betty asks.

“To him? Yes.”

They leave the conversation there. It’s a while longer before Betty grows tired, and by then most of the pirates are talking in hushed voices on the opposite side of the deck. Sweet Pea is at the helm, smoke billowing from the pipe in his hand as he stares over the water. He catches her eye and nods as she slips away from the railing and walks towards the stairs leading down to his office, which he offered to let her sleep in during their journey to the wall.

Jughead walks her to her room, hands shoved into the pockets of his new coat. Betty opens one of the doors quietly, easily slipping into the dark room.

“Goodnight,” Jughead says to her, only able to see the pale curve of her jaw in the low light.

Betty looks at him over her shoulder, stilling with the door half-shut behind her. “Goodnight, Jughead,” she murmurs back, smiling back at him. He looks different now, a bit softer, like he was that first night they met. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He hesitates. “Right.” Jughead rubs the back of his neck. “I’ll see you then.” He starts to turn around but stops and calls out to her before she can shut the door. “Betty.” She glances back at him, unable to read his expression in the darkness. “You look beautiful in that dress.”

Jughead walks away before he can see her light up.

* * *

Their first few days of traveling with the pirates are rocky at best. It’s not that the men are unfriendly, quite the opposite really, but Jughead has been startled on more than one occasion by an unnamed member of the crew coming up behind him and slapping him on the back. The first time it happened he was nearly sent careening over the edge of the ship, only to be hauled back rather unceremoniously by the collar of his coat and dropped painfully onto his ass, much to the amusement of the crew on deck.

Even Betty had giggled a little at his startled expression, only further wounding his pride.

Though there haven’t been anymore mishaps such as that, Jughead has grown increasingly aware of his surroundings.

In all, the journey has been going well. He and Betty have been able to talk without bickering or needing to flee for their lives from any number of foes. The pirates don’t appear to think anything odd of them, despite finding them in the clouds in the middle of a storm. And even Sweet Pea has been accommodating.

Though gruff, the captain has spent a great deal of time with them since they boarded the ship. Perhaps most of it is simply to keep up their rouse of being cousins, but the captain seems to genuinely enjoy their presence most days. He’s told Jughead plenty of the lightning trade and has humored Betty’s fascination with stories, telling her of his adventures across Eldervair and the things he’s seen.

Jughead is still rightfully confused about why the pirate is helping them, but the offer appears to be genuine, if nothing else. Sweet Pea promised to get them close to the wall and for some unfathomable reason Jughead believes him.

It’s on their third day of traveling with the pirates that Sweet Pea pulls Jughead away from a quiet conversation with Betty in his office.

They’re simply looking at maps of the stars and she’s explaining the constellations to him, the things she misses most about her home, the things she used to see from all the way up in the heavens, when Sweet Pea storms into his office, grabs Jughead by the back of his jacket without so much as a word, and then proceeds to drag him above deck.

More surprising than that, Sweet Pea tosses him a sword.

Jughead fumbles with the weapon, not expecting _a sword_ to be launched at his head, and succeeds in nearly chopping off his toes when it clatters to the deck. The noise gains the attention of the crew members on deck, but they soon go back to their business when Sweet Pea sends them a withering glare.

“Do you know how to fence?” Sweet Pea asks Jughead.

Frowning, Jughead pauses, half-bent over to pick up the sword. “Do I what?” He blinks at Sweet Pea quizzically. “Of course I know how to fence!”

He holds the sword loosely in his hand, completely out of form, and Sweet Pea kicks his legs out from under him, sending Jughead tumbling to the ground in a heap of limbs. The breath is knocked out of him and he wheezes. Jughead simply lays there for a moment, staring up at the clouds until Sweet Pea leans over him, an irritated expression on his face.

Jughead coughs. “In my defense, you asked if I know how, not if I’m any good.”

Sweet Pea rolls his eyes and hauls Jughead to his feet far too easily. He drops him again just as quickly, nearly sending the younger man right back to the ground.

“You’re running from a witch,” Sweet Pea reminds him rather loudly, gaining a few looks from the surrounding crew. “You don’t have a Babylon Candle anymore.” He shoves the sword back into Jughead’s hands. “And you have no way of defending yourself.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no way—”

He’s cut off abruptly by Sweet Pea yanking open the front of his jacket. “This—” he plucks the glass flower from the inside pocket of Jughead’s coat, “—can only protect you for so long.” Sweet Pea holds up the flower so that it catches the light and Jughead’s breath catches. He feels exposed suddenly, without that flower in his pocket. Jughead swallows but doesn’t speak, and Sweet Pea leans in, lowering his voice. “I know magic when I see it. You don’t find these often. They’re worth more than most are willing to give. So don’t fucking lose it.” Sweet Pea slips the flower back into his pocket and then shoves him.

Feeling a bit like a rag-doll, Jughead rubs his chest and watches Sweet Pea warily as the pirate draws his sword. Perhaps it’s his irritation at being shoved around or genuine curiosity, but Jughead can’t help but ask, “how did you get yours?”

He only saw the flower briefly, but ever since Betty brought it up the other night he’s be wondering about it. Jughead may not know the history surrounding it, but he knows it’s important to the pirate. He wouldn’t have hit Jughead that first morning if it wasn’t special. What he’s said now only proves that.

Sweet Pea tenses at the question. His fingers curl like he wants to reach for the flower, but he doesn’t. For a moment the surly pirate’s expression is open and raw. There’s something in his eyes that Jughead can’t read but it makes his own chest ache.

That look is gone as quickly as it’s there. “I made a bargain,” Sweet Pea tells him lowly.

“What did it cost you?” Jughead lowers his sword arm, expression softening.

Sweet Pea’s gaze locks with his. “Everything.”

Before Jughead can react, Sweet Pea once again sweeps his legs out from under him, sending him crashing back to the deck. Sweet Pea levels the sword with his throat and Jughead stills. “You want to protect her?” he asks. “Then learn to fight.” He lowers his sword and holds out a hand to help Jughead up.

Jughead hesitates until Betty’s smile flashes in his mind. He takes Sweet Pea’s hand.

 

 

 

The night, Jughead ends up bruised and sore from a full day of fencing with Sweet Pea. The pirate hadn’t been easy on him, absolutely ruthless as he knocked Jughead to the ground over and over. If nothing else, it taught Jughead how to get back up.

Despite thoroughly kicking Jughead’s ass for several hours straight, Sweet Pea appeared to be mildly impressed with Jughead’s progress. He didn’t say anything, but he did give Jughead an encouraging nod before telling him they’ll train again the next day.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Are you all right?” Betty murmurs as she prods a purple mark developing on his arm, her brows narrowed in thought. When Jughead didn’t return to the office within an hour she went looking for him. It was a little embarrassing, being beaten so easily while knowing she was watching him, but each time Sweet Pea knocked him down she reminded him why he needed to get back up.

Jughead offers her a grin that’s slightly dampened by the split in his lip. “I’ll have a few bruises, but nothing too bad,” he admits, wincing when she pokes his arm again.

Betty hums and he isn’t sure if she believes him. She traces the edge of a bruise with one gentle fingertip, her soft skin barely grazing his. The touch makes him shiver.

“So,” Betty begins casually, “sword fighting. That’s very heroic.” She doesn’t look at him as she says it, at least, not until Jughead glances down at her and her green eyes flick up to meet his. Her gaze is half mischief and half sincerity and Jughead’s heart skips.

“You think so?”

Her hand finds his and squeezes. “Absolutely.”

* * *

The weeks pass far quicker than either Jughead or Betty anticipated. The path down the coast is long and filled with lightning storms that disrupt their journey, but the days never feel long. Betty spends her time curled up in Sweet Pea’s office, reading every old book lining the shelves on either side of the room. Meanwhile, every morning Sweet Pea and Jughead train in fencing. Slowly, but surely, he improves, being knocked down less and less each day until he’s able to hold his own relatively well in a fight. Once he even manages to knock the sword from Sweet Pea’s hand, getting the best of the pirate, much to his surprise. He isn’t a master by any means, but he’s getting better.

One night, about a week into their travels, the Serpentine flew straight into the heart of a massive storm. The thunder was roaring, so loud it rattled right into Jughead’s bones. He could feel the electricity in the air and it buzzed through him. He and Betty were awoken in the middle of the night, handed jackets and goggles, and sent running above deck. They were both soaked to the bone in seconds, the old raincoats doing little to shield them from the storm.

He’ll never forget the exhilarating feeling of that night, of helping the crew to capture lightning. It was dangerous and rough work, but it was the most alive he’d ever felt.

Jughead forgets that it’s all temporary until the last night before they reach Brolga.

The pirates throw them a party of sorts, a goodbye celebration. It isn’t much, but it’s nice. The sky is clear and open, thousands of twinkling stars watching over them as the ship floats through the air leisurely. One of the crew, a man called Fangs, pulls out an old gramophone that plays slow music. The men play a game of cards and on the deck the first mate, Joaquin, helps Betty through the steps of a waltz, much to her frustration and Jughead’s amusement.

Stars are many things, but dancers are not one of them.

Jughead chuckles as Betty trips over her feet again and beside him, Sweet Pea allows a small, amused smile to pull at his lips.

They watch her dance in silence for several minutes until Jughead turns to the pirate. “Why didn’t you kill us that first day?” he asks, more curious than accusatory. It’s something he’s been wondering for weeks now. Sweet Pea had no reason to help them, and especially not by going to the lengths he did to ensure they’d be kept safe. But now, with only a short night left until they reach port, Jughead sees no reason not to question it.

Sweet Pea merely continues to watch Betty and Joaquin dance. “I told you, I hate witches.”

Jughead frowns. “No, that’s not it. You didn’t know about the witch when you faked tossing me out the window. That’s when you decided to help us, not when Betty told you about the witch.”

“I’ve been captain of this ship for two years,” Sweet Pea tells him eventually. “It’s nasty business. After a while, you get tired of it.” He blows smoke from the pipe in his hand, fingers drumming against the side of it absentmindedly. Then, he shrugs. “You looked like good people.”

Reluctantly, Jughead accepts that. A whim or not, he’s grateful the pirate decided against throwing him off the ship. It would have been a long way down. “How did you become captain of this ship anyway? You’re barely older than I am.”

Sweet Pea glances down at him, eyes narrowed in thought. “Family business. My father owned this ship. I’ve been sailing since I was young. He died two years ago and the ship needed a captain. He'd sold the ship, but I bought it back. Besides, there was good trade in lightning. There still is.”

“And you needed the money to pay off whatever debt you owe that witch.” It’s a guess on his part, but Jughead would venture to guess he’s correct judging by the way Sweet Pea’s jaw clenches and his hands curl into fists. Jughead may not be a fighter, but he’s always been smart, good at putting the pieces together.

With a sigh, Sweet Pea exhales smoke from his nose. He lowers the pipe from his mouth and taps it against the side the wall behind them, sprinkling ash that’s blown away with the wind. “One day that mouth is going to get you killed, Forsythe Pendleton Jones.”

“A little late for that, Cousin,” he jokes. He sighs in relief when Sweet Pea’s lips quirk up a tick. “How do you know how to get to the wall?”

“Family business,” he says again. “Every year we traveled to market. One day, when I was young, I wandered further than usual. Came across a gap in the wall. I always told myself I was going to cross it one day, but I never did.”

“You still could.”

“Maybe,” Sweet Pea murmurs, but his gaze is elsewhere. Before Jughead can track it, Sweet Pea shoves the pipe into his hands and crosses the deck to where Betty and Joaquin are dancing.

Sweet Pea clasps a hand on Joaquin’s shoulder, startling the first mate. “Mind if I cut in?” He sends Joaquin a meaningful look and the man nods and slips away. Betty smiles up at him, missing the exchange, and readily offers her hand to the pirate, eager to continue.

They dance in silence for several minutes until Sweet Pea leans down to whisper in her ear. “Betty,” he murmurs when she’s busy staring down at her feet. “I know what you are.” Her head snaps up and her eyes widen, but before she can pull away from him, Sweet Pea spins her under his arm and pulls her in close. “Don’t,” he warns, keeping his voice low. “Just keep dancing. No harm will come to you on this ship, I promise.”

She’s slow to relax, but eventually falls back into the steps. No one notices them momentarily falter. Betty bites her lip, glancing around the deck. “How did you—”

“It’s not often you hear about a fallen star,” he tells her. “There are rumors. I didn’t think it was true until you spoke to Jones that first night. You started glowing.” Betty avoids his gaze, but Sweet Pea isn’t done. “You have to learn to control yourself. Your emotions reveal you.” Even now, she’s shining faintly. it’s not enough to be noticeable to most, but anyone watching closely would see the gentle, ethereal light coming off her skin, like she’s covered in a fine layer of diamond dust. “You’ve been glowing brighter every day,” he says. “And I think we both know why.”

“Does he know?” Betty asks quietly, casting a quick glance at Jughead as Sweet Pea twirls her under his arm, causing her dress to billow around her. It’s pale pink tonight, nearly colorless in the darkness, a shining silver. Her voice is low over the music coming from the gramophone Fangs is playing.

Sweet Pea chuckles, following her gaze to her companion, who’s busy fiddling with the pipe Sweet Pea handed him. “Idiot wouldn’t know it unless you told him. Maybe not even then.”

She scoffs. “He’s not that daft.” Slowly, Betty relaxes into his grip, assured that he won’t harm her. If he’d really wanted to he would have cut out her heart when he first realized what she is. “If you knew, why didn’t you kill me?”

His hesitation makes her heart jump. “I won’t lie,” he says eventually, mouth pressed into a grim line. “I thought about it. The heart of a star. Eternal youth. Do you have any idea how much you’re worth?” he jokes, making her lips quirk up. “More than I could ever make smuggling lightning, that’s for sure. But it wouldn’t have been right.”

Betty nods slowly. “Kurtz said you had a debt to pay. And you told Jughead you lost everything, probably to a witch, considering how much you claim to hate them.” It all clicks into place and Betty thinks she understands. In all her time watching humanity she’s realized there are only two things that make a man desperate enough to kill. And she doubts it’s power he wants.

“The woman who gave you that flower… she must have been special to you” It’s a blind guess, but when his grip around her tenses she knows she’s right. Betty’s had little to do but watch the members of the crew over the few weeks they’ve been traveling together. Sweet Pea has been the biggest mystery of them all, never giving out information freely. All she knows is what little she’s heard and the way he keeps the flower close to his heart, holding it like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

If that’s not love, she doesn’t know what is.

His throat moves with a harsh swallow and he won’t meet her gaze. “She is.”

Sweet Pea doesn’t say anything more and Betty doesn’t ask. They keep dancing until Jughead comes up behind him and Sweet Pea easily hands her off to the other man. He murmurs a goodbye and leaves them to their dance.

 

 

 

As the night continues, Sweet Pea finds himself leaning back against the railing of the ship, thinking to himself and watching the pair continue to dance. It doesn’t take long for Joaquin to slide up beside him.

“You know,” Joaquin muses, leaning back against the railing beside Sweet Pea, “he reminds me a little of you.”

Sweet Pea’s gaze slides away from Betty and Jughead. “Is that so?” He raises a curious brow, though his tone is dry.

“Obviously. It’s the charm and good looks.” Sweet Pea snorts, shaking his head at his first mate’s amusement. However, Joaquin’s expression sobers quickly. “He’s got that same look in his eyes as you when you see—”

“Joaquin,” Sweet Pea starts lowly, sending him a stern look. His jaw clenches and his fingers curl into fists. The snake on his neck bares its fangs. He swallows down the lump in his throat that always comes when someone mentions her.

But Joaquin has never been so easily deterred. “That’s why you’re helping them, isn’t it? Because you can’t help her?” Sweet Pea’s shoulders tense, giving Joaquin all the answer he needs. “You said a witch is after them. You think it’s Penny Peabody? Killing her won’t help—”

Sweet Pea snaps. “Dammit, Joaquin, I know!” He squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling heavily through his nose. “I know. But at least I can do this.”

Joaquin doesn’t press him. They lapse back into silence as they watch Betty and Jughead stumble through waltz steps until they give up on the dance altogether. Jughead grabs Betty by the waste and lifts her straight off the ground, spinning her in a wide arc and making her shriek with laughter. She clings to his shoulders, burying her face against the side of his neck to smother her giggles, causing Jughead to grin.

He sets her down again, twirling her under his arm and murmuring something to her that makes her shake her head in fond amusement.

As they continue to dance across the deck, Betty begins to shine. The glow is faint at first, easily confused for the moonlight above, but quickly grows brighter until there’s no denying that she’s the source of it. And if he could, Jughead would be shining to.

Joaquin’s eyes widen at the sight of her. “She’s the star, isn’t she?” he asks quietly, not taking his eyes off the couple. The rest of the crew doesn’t seem to notice, busy playing cards or too drunk to notice the light coming off Betty.

“Perhaps,” Sweet Pea murmurs.

Eyeing him, Joaquin grins and shakes his head. “You’ll have the head of anyone who tries to harm her, won’t you?”

“Perhaps,” he says again. Sweet Pea allows a small smile as Jughead spins Betty around, causing the entire deck to light up beautifully.

* * *

The night winds down until Betty and Jughead are the only one’s left above deck. They’re right back to where they started, leaning over the edge of the ship and staring up at the stars. Betty glows as brightly as her sisters, content once more. She never thought she would come to enjoy her time on earth like she has been. Jughead is quiet beside her, staring across the sky into the darkness like he's searching for something, his expression far away. The moon casts shadows on the side of his face making his expression unreadable. Somehow, Betty knows that he's thinking about going home.

“We port in Brolga tomorrow morning,” he murmurs, proving her correct. He seems oddly somber about it. It's the first time he's mentioned going home since the first week they were on the ship. He's been quiet about it, though Betty can't figure out why. She thought he would be happier about going home again, seeing his family. But he's not. That's all he wanted to do when they first met, but something has changed.

Betty glances sideways at him, unable to read his expression in the dark. “We do,” she says softly. “It’ll be strange, being on land again.” She laughs, gaining a half-grin in response. She hasn't stepped foot on the ground since that first day on the ship. It'll be odd, learning to walk normally again. “Are you excited?”

Jughead stares down at the reflection of the moon on the water, watching it ripple. “I don’t know,” he tells her truthfully. “I miss my father. And my friends. But being here… it all feels right.” It’s a quiet admission, as if he’s ashamed of it.

Instinctively, Betty leans her shoulder against his, offering some comfort, though it's not the same for her. She doesn’t dare admit that she’s begun to feel the same way. That she feels more alive here than she ever has up in the sky. It feels wrong to her, that she's enjoying herself.

When Jughead leans into her touch Betty shines.

“You could always come back,” she reminds him. “Now that you know what’s beyond the wall there’s nothing stopping you from coming back. I’m sure you could find a way around that guard of yours.”

He chuckles. “Maybe.”

The silence overtakes them then, but it’s comfortable, gentle.

“So,” Betty begins casually. “About how long do you think it’ll take for us to get to Riverdale? I mean, sixty miles, that’s what, a couple days at most? Less if you’re still in a hurry to prove you found the star.”

Jughead’s gaze snaps to her, his eyes wide, and Betty is unable to contain the slow smile spreading across her face. “You still want to go with me? To Riverdale?”

She giggles at his surprise. “Well, I did promise I would, didn’t I?”

He suddenly looks remorseful. “No, you didn’t. I was an ass before, Betty. I had no right to do what I did to you, and you shouldn’t do anything you don’t want.”

“You were an ass,” she agrees, making him wince. “But I want to.” Betty places her hand on top of his and threads their fingers together, squeezing his palm gently. “Go with you, that is.”

Jughead stares down at their intertwined fingers and brushes his thumb across the back of her hand. “I don’t have a Babylon Candle anymore,” he reminds her.

“I know.”

He swallows the growing lump in his throat. “I don’t know how to get you home.”

“I _know_ ,” she says again. He looks confused and elated all at once and Betty grins up at him. He stares down at her like she’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen and Betty only glows brighter, her heart soaring in her chest.

Jughead breathes a little laugh. “All right,” he murmurs. “Lets go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and be sure to leave a comment and let me know your thoughts!


	4. Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very excited to be sharing this chapter with you all! There is some non-graphic smut about 1/3 of the way through the chapter. Apologies in advance for any minor errors, and a huge thank you to people who have left kudos or comments! I really do appreciate it! The epilogue will be posted tomorrow. Thank you <3

After following the growing whispers of a star in Eldervair, the witch finds them through a trader located on the coast of the Wandering Sea. The news has spread, it seems, to the witch guilds near the wall separating their realm from the next. She hears the rumors on the wind and her scrying leads her to the coast and a young fence named Kurtz.

“And you’re sure they’re headed west?” the witch queen asks, watching him with her one good eye. In the weeks since she lost the star, her magic has depleted further, sucking the beauty of her youth from her bones and leaving her a wrinkled, hollow husk. The remains of the last star have withered to nothing inside her.

She pulls the cowl lower around her face, hiding herself from the young man’s view. Her hair has turned the color of fresh snow and even the cherry-streak, the last of her livelihood, has begun to pale. Weaker now than she was before, she _must_ find the star.

The fence barely pays any attention to her, sorting through a stack of paperwork on his desk. “‘S the same route the captain makes every year,” he tells the witch. “The Serpentine always ports in Brolga before making its way back up the coast.” He’s awfully loose-lipped about his associates, though, in these parts, rumors breed more profit than loyalty.

So the star is headed to the wall then. And she has a head start. That simply won’t do.

Her lips purse in irritation and her one good eye narrows. “And the captain had a girl with him?” She speaks slowly, so even the fool of a fence can understand her. He’s scattered, jittery, and she knows his kind.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. He finally looks at her. A frown pulls at his mouth. “Never seen her before. Blonde, pretty, quiet. Not the kind that runs with pirates. Didn’t think much of her though.” He starts to turn back to his paperwork, but stops. “Why do you want to know about her?” Kurtz squints, trying to see her face beneath her dark hood.

Dark magic tickles at the tips of her fingers.

“Unfinished business.”

He stares at her for a moment longer. “Well,” Kurtz says, going back to his work. “I don’t know how else I can help you.”

The witch queen can think of one way. “Where can I find a Babylon Candle?”

Kurtz lets out a surprised laugh and shakes his head, much to her displeasure. “You can’t.” He snorts. “Not this side of the Wandering Sea. No one has seen a candle in years.”

Frustration licks at her insides. She lashes out at the fence, gripping his face in one hand. Kurtz inhales sharply but is unable to speak as she pinches his cheeks together, her fingers a vice around his jaw. The cowl shifts as she leans in toward the young man, revealing her withered face and blind eye. He tenses and she grins, pleased he knows who she is, that he knows the rumors.

“You speak of this to no one,” the witch queen hisses, breath hot against his cheek, her breath rancid. Her fingernails, thick and curved and warped into points like the claws of an animal, dig into the soft flesh of his cheeks, causing pinpricks of blood to rise to the surface.

Magic flickers at her fingertips, hazy green and misty. It sinks into his skin through his blood, writhing and feeding like a leech until it finds what it wants. The dark magic winds into his throat, choking him, and his tongue begins to burn. A gurgling whimper is all that leaves the young man.

The witch queen releases him just as suddenly and he collapses to his knees, coughing. That green haze crawls from his throat and dissipates in the air, leaving behind a brand on the back of his tongue. She smiles as she leaves.

Perhaps he won’t be so loose-lipped in the future.

* * *

The Serpentine prepares to dock south of Brolga early in the morning, just as the first rays of sunlight are bursting over the horizon. Despite herself, Betty is already awake. She should be exhausted, being up and about far later than what’s appropriate for most stars, but in the weeks she’s been traveling with Jughead she’s grown accustomed to the sleep schedules of humans. Seeing the sunrise leaves an odd feeling in her chest, caught somewhere between absolute joy and guilt.

Somewhere between beginning their voyage with the pirates and now, Betty has come to enjoy herself and her time with people she never dreamed she would meet. She’s forgotten when she last awoke and longed to return to the sky with her sisters. At first it was a constant ache she could feel all the way down beneath her ribs, in her flesh and bones and in the steady beat of her heart. Before, returning home was the only thing that mattered to her, but now? Now something’s changed, and Betty isn’t sure how she’s supposed to feel.

Sweet Pea was right. She has been glowing brighter every day. Her heart has been light, a weight lifted from her chest. The previously dim glow that encompassed her when she fell has become brighter and brighter, rivaling the way she used to shine up in the heavens. And she knows why. Sure, the beauty of earth is part of it, the adventure and the raw feeling of being alive that’s curled into her chest and taken root, but that’s not the only reason. It’s not the _main_ reason.

Her gaze shifts to the young man standing beside her. His green eyes are wide, alight with wonder as he stares over the edge of the ship, watching as the sea below grows larger as the ship lowers from he clouds. The wind whips around them both, casting his dark hair around him wildly and making his white coat billow behind him. Green eyes lock with hers and Betty can’t help but smile back at Jughead. She has to push her own hair away from her eyes, loose strands of pale gold escaping the carefully done twist at the back of her head.

She lingers on him for a moment too long before turning back to the Sea. Salt water clings to the air, and the taste of it is thick on her tongue.

The ship pitches forward suddenly, cutting through the sky as the air in the balloon rapidly decreases, sending the ship hurtling toward the water at an angle. Her heart leaps in her chest and fear grips at her throat. But Betty has come to trust the crew implicitly in the weeks she’s known them.

They lower into the Wandering Sea smoothly, the bow cutting through the water and causing waves to rise up and crash across the deck, soaking members of the crew. Betty shrieks at the spray of salt water and beside her Jughead laughs, dripping water himself. He rakes his hand through his hair, shoving the inky strands away from his face as he glances down at her, so close she can see the spatter of sun-freckles spread across the bridge of his nose.

The sight makes her breath catch more than the impact.

It takes them another half-hour to reach the port, the journey slower now that they’re in the water. Betty and Jughead wait on the deck off to one side, keeping out of the pirates’ way as the men go about their business. In the time it takes them to reach the port near Brolga, their clothes are dry once more, though the sticky salt of the sea spray continues to cling to their skin.

It’s reminiscent of how they were when they first boarded the ship, though so very different as well. Before, they were water-clogged and angry, scared and lost and looking like drowned rats. Jughead was awkward and gangly, with too long limbs and not enough muscle mass. He’s filled out nicely now, a fine layer of muscle covering his arms and torso from the sword fighting he’s been practicing daily. He’s still wearing that long, white coat he received from Sweet Pea, and that in addition to the sword at his hip makes him look impressive in ways she never expected, no longer a bumbling boy but a man. Jughead still looks like himself, but different. Better, perhaps. And though Betty hasn’t changed much outwardly, she’s begun to smile more.

Jughead looks practically giddy as the ship moves into port. While he isn’t pacing, the young man is rocking back and forth on his heels, struggling to stand in one place. There’s an eagerness there that Betty hasn’t seen from him before, and something else, though she can’t quite put her finger on what it is. Human emotions are still woefully strange to her. She’s always being surprised, especially by him.

Betty watches him, fondness pulling at her heart.

Now, he’s simply hovering behind Sweet Pea at the helm, a pack strewn over his shoulder with an extra pair of clothes for the both of them and enough food to last at least a day or two. Though, Jughead has proven himself to be a bottomless pit of a human being, something that disturbed her greatly the first time she watched the young man eat. As a star, Betty hardly needs to consume food like a regular person, gaining most of her energy from the moonlight. She’s eaten some, mostly to keep up appearances, but the taste isn’t something she enjoys the way her companion does.

That’s simply another thing she’s grown to like about him.

It isn’t long until the ship is docked and they’re saying their goodbyes to the crew. Most only spare passing goodbyes and good lucks, though a few of the more prominent members take a moment to grasp her hand or slap Jughead on the back a little too roughly. Fangs pulls her into a surprisingly firm hug before stepping aside, and though he doesn’t come up to them Joaquin offers her an almost knowing look from where he’s leaning against the railing of the ship.

It’s Sweet Pea’s goodbye that makes her grin though. The captain stops them before they can leave the upper deck, as imposing as he was the first day they met, dressed in a dark, leather coat with a sword strapped to his hip, a canister clasped between his hands.

Sweet Pea glances between them before holding out the canister to Jughead, who frowns but takes it gingerly. As he begins to unscrew the cap, Sweet Pea is quick to still his hands. “That’s ten thousand bolts,” he warns the younger man. Jughead’s eyes widen and he hurries to tighten the cap again. “You run into that witch of yours, you might actually stand a chance. Aim carefully and use it wisely. You’ve got one shot with this.” He leans in closer to the two of them. “And believe me, you don’t want to miss.” His eyes darken as he speaks, his expression stormy.

It’s only after Jughead loops the canister over his shoulder and nods firmly that Sweet Pea leans away and crosses his arms. The pirate’s chin jerks towards the docks and the pathway leading into the rocky hills and forest. “The market is just north of here, maybe a two day walk, three at most.” He pauses briefly, considering something as he looks between the two of them critically. After a second his lips twitch in what might be amusement. “If you decide to spent a night in Market, go to the Whyte Wyrm. Tell Toni I sent you. She’ll give you a room.”

The pirate sends them both a look and Betty’s cheeks begin to burn.

Sweet Pea continues as if he hadn’t insinuated anything. “And from there you’ll be able to find the wall with little trouble. Keep yourselves hidden on the road, you don’t know who you might run into this close to the wall.”

“Thank you,” Jughead says for the both of them. “Really, we wouldn’t have made it this far without your help.”

“I’m aware,” he says dryly, making Jughead’s eyes roll. Sweet Pea glances down at Betty, offering her a smile that’s no more than a quirk of his lips. “I hope you find your way home,” he lowers his voice so the crew watching from the deck can’t hear them. “Wherever that may be. And good luck to you both.”

It catches him off guard when Betty rises up onto her toes and wraps her arms around the surly pirate. Sweet Pea tenses, eying the small blonde, but allows her to hug him. “Thank you, for everything,” she whispers, feeling Jughead’s eyes on her. “I hope everything works out for you and that girl of yours.” It takes a second for Sweet Pea to relax into the unexpected embrace, but eventually he does and Betty smiles when he pats her on the shoulder.

He’s equally quiet when he says, “don’t wait too long to tell him.” Betty doesn’t have to ask what he means. She squeezes her arms around his middle before releasing him and taking a step away from the pirate.

Betty offers one last smile before turning to the lower deck. As he helps her down the steps, Jughead smiles at her, a brilliant thing that makes his eyes light up, turning them from pale green to near gold in the morning light. His fingertips are rougher than they were a few short weeks ago, calluses sliding across smooth skin, and Betty shivers as a thrill curls up her spine. She ducks her head, hiding a blush, and behind him Sweet Pea snorts in amusement.

Before he can follow her down, Sweet Pea holds Jughead back. She eyes them curiously as she makes her way to the gangplank leading ashore, a frown tugging at her lips. Their exchange is brief. Sweet Pea leans in, murmuring something in Jughead’s ear which makes his eyes widen a fraction of an inch. By his expression, she expects him to flail or sputter, but he surprises her by nodding at the pirate’s words.

Jughead doesn’t say anything as he jumps down onto the deck beside her, casually placing a hand low on her back and leading her toward the gangplank. Betty offers one last wave to the pirates as they cross onto dry land for the first time in weeks.

She waits until the ship has grown small in the distance before she turns to Jughead. “What did Sweet Pea say to you?” Perhaps she shouldn’t ask, but Betty has always been unnaturally curious.

“What?” Jughead responds, playing dumb. “What did he say when?” He glances down at Betty and looks away just as quickly.

She, in turn, rolls her eyes. “Just now, when he leaned in to whisper in your ear.”

“Oh! Uh, it was nothing,” he stumbles slightly over his words. Betty eyes him critically, but he pretends not to notice her stare. “Just some… friendly advice from our friendly pirate friend.”

Betty stops walking and her frown deepens at his peculiar behavior. Jughead, meanwhile, carries on as if nothing is wrong. She hurries to catch up. “Advice on what?”

“Oh, you know,” he says vaguely. “Witches.”

* * *

Kurtz is just finishing a stack of paperwork in his office when someone knocks on the front door. Now, this is something that occurs quite regularly. Kurtz is, after all, the best fence this side of the Wandering Sea. His name is known all the way north to the Iron Mountains and all the way west to the wall and east to the castle at Mount Obsidio. His reach is wide. His name prolific. However, this knock is unlike most other knocks on his door. For one, it is much more persistent than most other knocks. The loud bang of a hand on a wooden door startles him enough that he nearly knocks over a large stack of paperwork. Second, it’s much earlier than usual, the brink of dawn. Kurtz’s clients are never up and about this early in the morning, most preferring the cover of darkness. And third, he isn’t expecting any clients today.

He doesn’t much like surprises.

Standing slowly, Kurtz rubs one hand across his cheek where a series of pinprick scars make a curved path from eye to jaw. A remnant of his last surprise guest.

The knocking on the door continues and Kurtz cautiously makes his way to the front of the shop. The banging cuts off when he makes it halfway to the door and he frowns, his eyes narrow a tick.

He pads to the door and peeks through the peephole. There’s no one outside.

Irritation flashes through him. With rolling eyes, Kurtz turns around and heads back to his office, intent on finishing his paperwork and sleeping until late in the afternoon when he has that meeting with Penny about business in the market near the wall.

Again, he runs his fingers across the scars on his cheek. Damn witches.

Kurtz shakes his head and slips back into his office.

“Hello, Kurtz.”

He freezes in the doorway. His head snaps up, his gaze locking on dark eyes and a thin-lipped sneer. A thin, birdlike man sits at his desk, one leg crossed over the other, ankle propped on the knee. Two armed men stand on either side of him.

Kurtz immediately reaches for the knife tucked into his shirt, subtle in his movements as he looks over the strangers.

It only takes him a second to realize who, exactly, has broken into his office so early in the morning.

“Your Highness,” he greets Prince Cormac. Kurtz’s hand retreats from his knife and he bows smoothly at the waist. He straightens again at the last second. “Or, perhaps I should say ‘Your Majesty’.” Kurtz grins at his own correction, looking smug as he glances over the next king. “Congratulations on being the last heir of Eldervair left alive, you must be very happy.”

At least, as happy as anyone who murdered most of their own relatives can be.

Kurtz clears his throat, unperturbed by the prince’s lack of reaction. “You know, I met your brother once. The older one, I mean. And I—”

“Stop talking,” Cormac demands.

“Okay.”

The prince’s lips press into a thin, unamused line, sharp and cruel and commanding of respect. Kurtz eyes him warily. He’s seen expressions like that many times in his line of work, and they can be dangerous, volatile and violent. And one can never be too careful with the royal family of Eldervair. Those of the Stormhold have a particularly bloody and cruel history. Everyone in Eldervair knows how the royals handle the matter of succession.

Perhaps _that_ is why it is so surprising when the prince says, “I’m looking for a girl.”

Kurtz simply can’t help the disbelieving snort that escapes him. It’s little more than a brief puff of air, but it’s enough for the prince’s eyes to narrow in disdain. “Aren’t we all?” The joke gains him a blank look, though the prince’s lips twist into a deep frown.  
“Unfortunately, you’re not gonna find one of them around here. Though, if you’re desperate I might suggest—” Kurtz’s ill-timed quip is abruptly cut off by one of the prince’s men grabbing a fistful of his shirt and shoving him back against the nearest wall. A knife is shoved in his face and Kurtz holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “All right, all right!” The man releases him. Kurtz wets his lips. “What girl are you lookin’ for?”

The prince remains quiet for a moment longer than necessary. “Blonde.”

“Blonde?” Kurtz repeats, nodding slowly. Cormac only stares back. “That it? Nothin’ else?” When the prince still says nothing, Kurtz chuckles. “Well, aren’t you easy to please. You know, I know a couple girls like that back in—”

The prince is quick to cut him off again. “She had a precious stone around her neck. Colorless.” Kurtz stills, his eyes widening a fraction. “So you do recognize her,” the prince murmurs. Slowly he stands from the desk. Kurtz sucks on his teeth as the prince comes closer. “Where. Is. The. Girl?” Cormac asks, each word punctuated with a step.

Kurtz wets his lips. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” he lies.

A knife is leveled with his throat. “I won’t ask you again.”

Swearing under his breath, Kurtz squeezes his eyes shut. “She came in with Captain Sweet Pea of The Serpentine three weeks back,” he says hurriedly. On the back of his tongue, the witch’s brand glows a pale, sickly green. “By now he’s at port in Brolga. I don’t know where he was taking her.” His throat begins to tighten, a phantom hand winding around his neck and squeezing. “But you aren’t the only one looking. There was a lady, she came here three days ago and—”

Kurtz stops abruptly, a low gurgling sound coming from his mouth. The man pinning him to the wall releases the fence, and Kurtz drops to the ground in an undignified heap.

Prince Cormac stares in disdain at the limp body on the floor. He doesn’t need to check the boy’s mouth for a cursed seal of silence, recognizing the effects of. He knew of the witch already, the one who killed his brother. She’s one step ahead of him, it seems. Good. He’ll have the star’s heart and revenge for his brother’s slaying all at once.

“Well then,” he says to his men, not sparing the fence another look as he steps over Kurtz’s prone body, “let’s pay The Serpentine a visit.”

* * *

Jughead steadfastly avoids looking at Betty for the better part of several hours as they make their way across the rocky countryside. Having left the sea and coastal pines behind them, the way to the wall has been nothing but miles and miles of barren fields of grass and overgrown shrubbery. They haven’t come across a single person since they said their goodbyes to the pirates, so the journey has been almost uncomfortably quiet in comparison to the last three weeks.

That, of course, is what leads him to his particular dilemma: Betty. More specifically, talking to Betty.

Sweet Pea’s advice from before begins to creep up into his thoughts, but Jughead shoves it back down before he can dwell on it for too long. There’s no sense in worrying himself when this adventure is almost over. Soon, he’ll prove to Archie and the others that he found the fallen star, then he’ll help Betty track down a Babylon Candle and send her back on her way home to do whatever it is that stars do. Simple enough.

Ignoring the painful tightening in his chest at that thought isn’t quite so easy.

But, like any good man with the name Forsythe Pendleton Jones, Jughead is stubborn enough to shove it down and pretend not to think about it. A task made even harder by the sway of her hips as she walks and the gentle, curving line of her bare shoulders, her neck and upper back left uncovered by the pale blue fabric of her dress.

Shaking his head, Jughead quickens his pace so that he’s walking beside her.

They continue on in silence for several more minutes before Betty suddenly speaks. “So, have you ever thought about it?” She asks him casually. “You know, everlasting life?”

He nearly trips over his own feet, something he thought he grew out of in the last three weeks. “What do you mean?” Jughead swallows thickly as he glances at Betty out of the corner of his eye, unwilling to look away from the road for too long—in case someone is coming, of course, not because he’ll end up staring. Obviously.

Betty meets his gaze, her eyes turning a pale silver in the light. Jughead looks away quickly. “Well,” she begins, “say there was another star—not me, of course, but someone you didn’t know.” She waits until Jughead nods to continue. “So, there’s another star, one you don’t know, and you had the chance to—”

“Kill them?” he finishes for her, face scrunching up in displeasure. “Do I look like I could kill anyone?” Betty laughs at the incredulous scoff that escapes him and Jughead allows a small smile, though the thought of cutting out someone’s heart disturbs him greatly. The sick feeling swirling in his stomach only intensifies when he imagines someone doing that to Betty. “Why do you ask?”

She only shrugs. “Just curious, I suppose.”

Jughead figures that’s not all, but he doesn’t press her. Instead, he takes a moment to think about what she’s asking him. “Eternal youth,” he murmurs, thinking out loud. “Sounds kind of lonely, doesn’t it? Being alive forever.” He doesn’t notice the way Betty turns back to the road, her expression suddenly melancholy. She glances up again when he continues. “I suppose if you had someone to share it with… someone you loved. Well, then it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Betty’s breath catches and she stops. Jughead takes another step before he stops as well, turning back to her with furrowed brows and a small frown. They stare at each other for a second too long. “Jughead.” Betty says his name so soft and sweet that a shiver runs down his spine. “I—” Her gaze shifts passed him to something further down the road and her eyes widen. “Get down!”

Jughead yelps in surprise as she tackles him around the middle, sending them both careening into the bushes beside the dirt trail. His head slams into the dirt and the breath is knocked out of him as she lands on top of him. Bewildered, Jughead opens his mouth to ask _what the hell is happening_ but Betty slaps a hand over his mouth before he can.

She shushes him hurriedly and goes very still above him. That’s when he hears the distant clatter of a horse’s hooves on the path, the sound of a carriage coming up the road. The sound grows louder by the second and he prays the bushes will offer enough covering and that they haven’t been seen already.

Above him, Betty shifts, causing the short hairs falling out of her elegant twist to tickle his cheek. Jughead tenses, inhaling sharply, but it only allows the delicate scent of her perfume to cloud his mind. It’s light, floral, like jasmine and lavender, and for a moment Jughead forgets where he is and what he’s doing. More of her weight sinks onto him and Jughead panics, unsure where to put his hands. Her waist seems like the most natural place, but then he imagines the soft curves he felt last night while they were dancing and opts to leave himself awkwardly sprawled across the ground.

He holds himself very still, trying not to squirm as the coach comes closer and Betty presses tighter against his chest. Her breath is hot against his ear.

Jughead peels his gaze away from her, fingers drumming against the patchy grass beneath them. It’s then that he notices the faint, shimmering light illuminating the bushes around them.

“Betty,” he whispers, her name like honey on his tongue. Her eyes find his and his mouth goes dry. The light makes her as ethereal as it did the first time he saw her. “You’re sort of… glittering right now.” Jughead’s wets his lips, drinking in the details of her face that he hadn’t noticed before.

Her eyes search his. “Am I?”

He swallows. “Yeah. It’s, uh, it’s very distracting.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” he repeats, softer than before. Betty is so close that he can count the little flecks of silver in her eyes. Their breaths mingle, their noses bump together, and Jughead’s fingers begin to creep towards her sides. He’s sure the coach is long gone by now, but he feels no pull to remove himself from their position on the ground. Betty dips her chin, glowing even brighter as their lips start to brush and—Jughead panics. “We should—” Betty jerks at his volume, his voice higher than usual. “We should keep going.”

Betty clears her throat and sits up. “Right,” she agrees, avoiding his gaze. “Right. The sooner we get to market the better.”

“Right,” he echoes, nodding. His stomach churns, but he ignores the feeling, trying not to shift with her still hovering over him like that. She’s still close enough to kiss, and he’s beginning to feel rather suffocated. He’s not sure what he might do if they stay here too long but he’s sure he’d only end up making a fool of himself.

That’s what he always seems to do when she’s around.

It takes some awkward shuffling for them both to get to their feet. Betty stands too quickly and trips over her dress, sending her tumbling right back down on top of him, and Jughead accidentally gets his legs tangled with hers, making the process even more difficult. Eventually, they figure it out and she helps him up from the ground.

The two of them awkwardly avoid eye-contact as they stumble out of the tall bushes and glance down the road, making sure no one else is coming. Once both are sure there’s no one else around, they finally continue back the way they were headed, following the signs pointing them home.

* * *

The Serpentine is docked at Brolga just like that wretched fence said it would be. And what luck that is. It isn’t often that pirates dock anywhere for more than a day or two, and the prince was sure they would miss the ship before it left for storm country across the Wandering Sea. And what a pity that would be, to lose the star and the stone by only a few short hours.

Prince Cormac stops his horse at the top of the hill overlooking the docks and the beast snorts, panting and sides heaving from the long ride down the coast. Five of his men come to rest on either side of him, exchanging looks before turning to the docks. None of them speak. Behind them, the witch’s boy peers around nervously, wringing his hands and shifting uncomfortably. Nervous, useless thing.

He should have left the boy behind with the fence.

“So this is The Serpentine,” he murmurs, staring at the vessel appraisingly. The prince surveys the ship with keen eyes, lips pursed in irritation. It’s an older vessel, but sturdy. More than that it’s large, certainly bigger than he expected. A vessel this size must have a crew of at least a dozen men, perhaps more. At least twice the amount of men Cormac has with him.

It’s in rather good condition as well, despite the line of work these pirates are in. Traders in black-market lightning, if he’s heard correctly. A rough bunch.

He weighs the odds in his mind. His men may be outnumbered, but they’re certainly more skilled than a ragtag group of filthy pirates. And if they aren’t that’s no matter to him. Cormac only needs enough time to gain the information he seeks. Their lives are of no consequence to him.

“Captain Sweet Pea has quite the fearsome reputation,” Cormac tells his men, raising his voice over the wind and waves. “Rumor has it he doesn’t take prisoners.”

It’s just as well, really. Neither does he.

Cormac’s best officer glances at him, jaw clenched tight and eyes narrowed dangerously. “What shall we do with the crew, Your Majesty?” The rest of his men shift at the question. A brawl with pirates isn’t something any of them were expecting to come from their search.

Shrugging, the prince spurs his horse forward. “Kill them all.”

None of his men argue.

They dismount when they reach the docks and storm The Serpentine’s deck. The prince’s men draw their swords as one, immediately forming a line between the captain’s quarters and the crew, who lunge to their feet, grasping at weapons tucked into their belts and boots.

Cormac counts twelve of them before he slips below deck. As he shuts the door behind him a brawl breaks out above.

 

 

 

In his quarters, Sweet Pea sits at his desk and stares out across the sea. Just a few more days and they’ll be heading deep into storm country, one last round before his next payment to Penny. He leans back in his chair, eyes slipping shut as he sighs. In his right hand he cradles a small, glass flower, a simple green stalk blooming with his namesake. A gift from a life he wishes he could go back to.

His thumb traces the stem lovingly, and then each of the six blossoms, a memorized path.

Sweet Pea’s eyes snap open as the doors to his office close behind him with a click.

His expression melts into one of irritation. Sweet Pea’s eyes narrow dangerously as he slips the flower back into the pocket of his coat and whirls on the intruder, lunging out of his seat. “I thought I told you idiots to—” He cuts off abruptly, eyes widening a fraction when he sees who it is. “Your Highness,” he greets, recognizing the stranger from stories. This would be the youngest prince, if what he’s heard is true. The last heir of Eldervair. “Well, now this is unexpected.”

“Captain Sweet Pea,” the prince eyes him with clear distaste, his lips twisted into a sneer. He steps further into the room, one hand on his sheathed sword. The spurs on his boots click against the floorboards. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Sweet Pea doesn’t bother with pleasantries. “Why are you here?” It’s unlike the royals to seek out his kind. His jaw clenches at the unpleasant interruption and he eyes the prince critically. He’s taller than the prince and twice as broad, but younger. At least two decades younger than the heir of Eldervair, and the prince has been killing men since he was very young, having murdered the first of his brothers when he was no older than fifteen according to some rumors.

“You have something I want,” the prince says to him.

Chuckling, Sweet Pea shakes his head. “Doubtful.”

“I’m looking for a young woman,” the prince continues as if he hadn’t spoken, though his frown deepens at Sweet Pea’s lack of interest. The captain snorts and Prince Cormac’s eyes narrow. “I have on good word that she was spotted with you, on this ship.”

The pirate captain slips around the edge of his desk and crosses his arms. His fingers slip beneath his jacket, finding one of the small knives strapped to his side. “If it’s a woman you want, the nearest brothel is in Brolga. I hear The White Rose is wonderfully accommodating.” His lips twist up in an expression that’s more sneer than smile.

He’s looking for Betty, that much is clear. And the only ones who know she was with him are his crew and that loose-lipped rat Kurtz. Sweet Pea thought the fence hadn’t paid her any mind that day, but perhaps he gave Kurtz too much credit. He’d wring that bastard’s neck if there was any chance he was still alive. The prince isn’t known for taking prisoners.

“Now get the fuck off my ship,” Sweet Pea spits at the prince when the other man doesn’t respond. Above deck the fighting continues, bloodshed on either side, and he has no qualms continuing that here.

A wry, unamused grin pulls at the prince’s lips. “And what about a fallen star?”

The tension in the room snaps. Sweet Pea’s temper boils over and he rips the knife from beneath his jacket. The knife buries itself to the hilt in the door as the prince ducks to one side. His hand flies to the hilt of his sword.

Too late he realizes the knife was a distraction.

The pirate’s fist cracks across his jaw, the blow throwing him sideways. He stumbles, but maintains his balance. Sweet Pea’s fists a hand in the smooth leather of the prince’s jacket and hauls him upright only to throw him across the room. The prince sucks in a sharp breath as his hip slams into the captain’s desk.

Sweet Pea is upon him again in an instant. He grabs the prince by the collar of his jacket and slams him down against the desk on his back, back handing him again. Blood gushes from the prince’s nose and dribbles down to his chin.

The pirate’s hand snaps to the knife on his belt, but the prince is faster. The heir of Eldervair rips a thin, wicked blade from his side and plunges it into Sweet Pea’s shoulder, twisting it violently. The pirate hisses from between clenched teeth as pain flares in his left arm, but doesn’t release the prince.

Cormac wedges a foot between them and lashes out, kicking the pirate back, sending him stumbling away. Before the prince can reach for another knife, the doors the office burst open and the crew of bloody, beaten pirates spills inside. Cormac’s men lay dead above deck.

With the only exit blocked and a crew of a dozen angry pirates staring him down, the prince sighs. Before the pirates can rush towards him, he vaults over the desk and smashes through the wall of windows lining the back of the room. The icy embrace of the Wandering Sea encompasses him.

The crew rushes forward, but Sweet Pea fists a hand in one of the younger men’s collar and yanks him back. They all peer through the broken window, watching the prince swim ashore.

“Should we go after him?” Fangs asks.

Sweet Pea’s shoulder throbs, the knife still embedded in his flesh to the hilt. Blood soaks through his shirt and jacket. Grunting, Sweet Pea covers the wound with his good hand to staunch the flow. The snake on his neck hisses in displeasure. “No,” he decides. “They can handle themselves.”

 

 

 

Freezing water clings to the prince as he trudges up the slope to where the peasant boy waits on horseback, the reigns of Cormac’s steed clutched in one of his hands. Water-logged and bleeding, the prince hardly spares the boy a look.

“Your men are dead, Your Majesty,” the boy tells him nervously, wringing his hands together when Cormac rips the reigns from his grip. Jittery, useless boy.

The prince ignores him. He swings himself onto the saddle and spurs his horse ahead. He should have known the star would be heading toward the market.

* * *

The journey to the market near the wall takes them two days, and it would have taken them a third had they not been offered a ride by a very kind old man with a wagon filled to the brim with turnips. They were careful to stay out of sight the first day, hiding off the path whenever someone came down the road, but by the second they were both cold and exhausted from walking. The old man seemed harmless enough and offered to take them as far as his farm about five miles from the market. The walk from there wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been.

By the time the two of them arrive, they’re dirty, sweaty, and nearly miserable from walking, but the bustle of the town is infectious. Jughead grasps at Betty’s hand as they walk down the main road. The sheer volume of people is like nothing he could have imagined and the pair easily blend into the crowds making their way to the center of the town, where the market is located. They pass shops and several inns as they make their way, the town a beacon for travelers of all sorts.

“So this is the market,” Jughead murmurs, looking around in awe at everything there is to see, magical objects, performs on stilts, things he never could have imagined. “It looks just like my father said.” Even better, perhaps. His father’s storytelling doesn’t do it justice.

Betty’s fingers squeeze around his, drawing his attention from a jar filled with flickering lights, like fireflies without a form. “We should stay the night,” she urges him. The glow of the market masks the shimmering of her skin and for a moment he loses himself in the depths of her eyes, that silvery green sucking him in and holding tight.

Jughead shakes himself from his thoughts. “What?” She wants to spend the night here? He would have thought she’d want to head right for Riverdale and get all of this nonsense over with.

“We should! It’ll be fun!” Jughead makes a low sound in his throat and Betty rolls her eyes. She slips around to stand in front of him and cranes her head back to look at him. He swallows as he stares down at her, painfully aware of the shrinking space between them. “We’ve made it this far,” Betty reminds him as her thumb brushes across his knuckles. “What’s one more night? Besides, Sweet Pea said he had a friend who would lodge us—”

“At the Whyte Wyrm,” he finishes for her. “I remember.”

She lights up with a smile. “Come on, Jughead,” she pleads. The way she says his name makes him soften. “We’re both exhausted and we’re almost there. Wouldn’t you rather see your friends in the morning when you’ve slept?” Well, she has a point there, though he’s loath to admit it. Her expression turns sly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “And after you’ve taken a bath?” she adds casually.

After he— _what_?

His eyes narrow in mock offense and he gasps, placing his free hand over his chest. “Are you saying I stink?” Jughead resists the urge to sniff himself, sure that he smells of a lovely combination of sweat and turnips. A bath isn’t an altogether terrible idea.

“Well, I wouldn’t say it like that,” Betty says, “ _but_ …”

Jughead quirks a brow, struggling not to smile. “Oh, is that so?” She nods and he yanks her to his chest, pinching her side and making her squeal. Jughead shakes with laughter as she wriggles away from him and swats his chest. Betty giggles herself and sends him a playful look.

She glows brighter and it takes his breath away.

“Okay,” he agrees, taking her hand again and lacing their fingers together. “Okay, we’ll stay the night.” Her smile widens. “Lets go find this Whyte Wyrm.”

 

 

 

After making arraignments at the Whyte Wyrm with a young woman named Toni and freshening up as best they can, Jughead and Betty once again take to the streets, wandering the market together and simply enjoying the others company.

While Jughead is particularly interested in a series of tattered books written in a foreign tongue, Betty peruses the stalls, many of the items for sale catching her eye. She nearly screams when she taps a jar filled with odd, orb like objects only to suddenly have two dozen pairs of disembodied eyes blinking at her. Jughead laughed at her then, and Betty huffed and moved on to the next stall, leaving him haggling with a merchant over the price of those books.

She doesn’t go far, keeping him in sight. Smiling fondly, she shakes her head at the exasperated look on the merchant’s face and goes back to browsing. She comes across a stall with a yellow caravan a few feet away. There’s no one manning the stall, only a exotic looking blue bird on a perch that watches her curiously, a silver chain connecting its leg to the caravan.

Betty approaches the stall carefully, intrigued, and her breath catches when she sees what’s being sold. Dozens of small, glass flowers rest in jars, each one more beautiful and delicate than the last. Betty recognizes bluebells and roses and lilies, the rest escaping her.

“Jughead!” she calls over her shoulder, not taking her eyes of the glass charms. He stops arguing with the merchant to look at her, and the older man looks relieved when he jogs away. “These look like yours,” she says when he’s close enough.

There’s a peculiar look on his face until he sees the jars filled with the decorative flowers. Jughead’s eyes widen and he inhales sharply, immediately fumbling for the flower tucked into the front pocket of his jacket. He holds up the snowdrop and leans in close, eying the other flowers, but there are none like his. “They do,” he murmurs, scanning the rows of glass bobbles. “Betty, do you think this is where—”

“That’s my flower!” Their heads snap up, eyes wide as an older woman with wispy white hair storms from the caravan. Her eyes flash dangerously as she stomps over to the stall, and Jughead yanks his hand away from the flowers on the table. “Eighteen years I’ve been looking for this,” the woman continues, lashing out at them. “You think you can steal from Madame—”

She cuts off when Jughead’s hand drops to his sword. “We didn’t steal anything from you!” he snaps, angling himself to stand between Betty and the old woman, who practically spits at them in irritation.

Her expression shifts into a smile that would be pleasant, if not for the sneering curl of her upper lip. She eyes the sword cautiously. “My mistake,” she says, quieter than before, but with the same edge.

Jughead glances at Betty over his shoulder and they exchange a bewildered look. Betty latches onto the back of his jacket, just in case she has to yank him away. He releases a slow breath but keeps his hand on his sword, even as he raises the glass flower into the light so the woman can see it. “This is yours?” he asks slowly, frowning and looking the woman over.

She eyes the snowdrop hungrily, her fingers itching to rip it from his hands. “It was my prized seller,” she tells them. “Foolish wench of mine gave it away, didn’t take any payment. Lost me a fine profit.” She spits onto the ground and the blue bird on the perch coos and flaps its wings.

Jughead inhales sharply and she remembers what he told her about his mother. “Do you know where I can find her?”

“That little bird?” she scoffs, shaking her head. The woman opens her mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it. Something flickers in her steely grey eyes. “I’ll tell you what.” She holds out a hand towards Jughead. “You give me that flower, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

He sucks on his teeth, glancing between the woman and the flower. Jughead loosens his grip on the sword at his hip and Betty finds his hand again, worming her fingers through his. She gives him a reassuring squeeze as he stares down at the flower resting in his hand.

“Tell me what I want to know first.”

She laughs. “That’s not how bargains work, boy.” He clenches his jaw and hands the flower over. The woman sighs in relief, clutching the flower close to her chest. “You have no idea what this is, do you?” she murmurs, laughing breathlessly.

“Some kind of good luck charm.”

“Very lucky,” she repeats. “Laced with a protection charm.” Jughead realizes his mistake a second too late as the old woman grins at him. “It’s the very thing that would have stopped me from doing this.”

Before either of them can react, the woman reaches across the table and taps Jughead in the center of his forehead. Black smoke billows around him and Betty yelps, releasing his hand as she hurries to cover her face.

When she opens her eyes again there’s a large, white rabbit sitting on the ground next to her.

“Jughead!” Betty gasps, covering her mouth in horror. “What did you do?” she snaps at the woman, who tucks the snowdrop into one of the folds of her dress and dusts off her hands, staring at the rabbit— _Jughead_ —in utter disdain.

The woman’s gaze flicks to her. “It’s all right, Deary.” She waves off Betty’s concern. “He’ll be back to himself in an hour or two. Nothing to worry about.”

Nothing to worry about? He’s a rabbit! “How dare you!” Betty fires back at the old woman. “You made a deal!”

“He was a thief,” the woman says, waving off Betty’s anger. “Now hop along before I decide to do the same to you.” Betty sputters, unable to form words at the blasé response. When Betty just stands there, the witch purses her lips. “Go on!” She shoos Betty. The bird on the perch chirps again, flapping its wings more violently this time.

Still unable to speak, Betty crouches down and scoops the rabbit into her arms. Jughead twitches his fuzzy ears and hangs limply in her grasp. Betty cradles him to her chest, arms wrapped around his furry midsection.

With one brief glance back at the witch, Betty shakes her head and trudges back to the Whyte Wyrm with her arms full of rabbit.

 

 

 

The bell above the door to the Whyte Wyrm chimes as Betty slips inside, struggling to hold the door and Jughead. Already, her arms are sore from the weight of holding the rabbit.

“Hello again, Betty,” Toni greets her, barely glancing up from behind the front desk. “Would you like the—” She stops abruptly when she sees what Betty is holding. Toni blinks. “Is that Jughead?” she asks, having only met the man briefly when the pair came in earlier to obtain a room. Betty’s grim expression is answer enough and Toni presses her lips together to keep from laughing.

Betty shifts her grip on the rabbit. “We may have run into a witch.” She offers Toni a wry smile.

Toni nods, her expression melting into one of understanding. “Byrdie,” she clarifies for the other woman. “Turning humans into animals is kind of her thing.” She shrugs and glances down at the big, fluffy, white rabbit clutched to Betty’s chest. “And you do make an adorable little rabbit.” Toni reaches out and taps Jughead on the nose. The rabbit sneezes, his bottom right foot twitching. He merely blinks back at the innkeeper. “What did he do to piss her off?”

“Nothing.” Betty groans in frustration, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. “He had this glass flower he got from his mother. She said he stole it.” And then she lied to him and turned him into a rabbit for fun, and now she’s stuck in an unfamiliar place and her only companion has been turned into a cute, cuddly animal.

Betty opts not to say all of this to Toni.

“Well, he should be fine soon. Byrdie’s magic never lasts long.” She nods at Toni’s reassurance. “Though animal transformation will probably make him a little…” Toni trails off, searching for the right word, “dopey when he comes out of it.” Turning around, Toni pulls a key off one of the hooks behind her and holds it out for Betty. “Here’s your room key.” Betty struggles to take it without dropping the rabbit, but she manages. “I’ll send one of the boys to bring up your food later.” She glances at Jughead. “I’ll make sure there are extra carrots.”

“Thank you, Toni.” Betty offers her another tense smile. She glances at the key and groans when she sees their room is on the third floor, but hoists Jughead higher in her arms. She manages to slip one arm beneath him and, sure she won’t drop him, begins the journey up the steps.

 

 

 

The first thing she does upon finding their room is plop the rabbit down on the bed shoved up against on of the walls. The rabbit hops once before flopping down on the blankets, perfectly at ease with being a rabbit and ignorant to Betty completely losing her mind.

Taking a deep breath, Betty closes her eyes and wills herself to calm down. Both Toni and the witch said he would be find in a few hours. He’ll be a rabbit for a while and tomorrow they’ll be in Riverdale and they can laugh about all of this with his friends.

Betty sits on the floor so that she’s eye level with the rabbit. “Jughead,” she begins slowly, frowning when he scratches himself, “if you can understand me, I need you to give me a sign.”

The rabbit licks its paw and begins washing its face.

With a heavy sigh, Betty drops her head back against the mattress. She reaches out and tickles the rabbit’s foot, making its nose twitch.

“You know, what you said about love earlier? And eternal life?” she murmurs, watching Jughead. “I get it.” She chews on her lip, playing with her fingers, waiting for a response she knows won’t come. “Before I met you I don’t think I knew much about love.” The rabbit blinks at her. “I’ve seen it. I’ve seen _centuries_ of it. It was the only thing that made your world worth watching.”

You has no idea why she’s telling him this now. It’s been plaguing her since yesterday and now that he’s a rabbit, well, it seems like the perfect time to tell him.

A frown pulls at her lips. “All those wars. Fighting. Pain and suffering…” Her gaze shifts down to her lip. It was always hard to watch that from the heavens, but love kept her from turning away for too long. “And yet you love.”

Her eyes drift back to the rabbit and for just a moment she thinks he might be able to understand her—then he sneezes and rubs at his eyes. Betty shifts and sets an elbow on the mattress, propping up her head. She reaches for the rabbit with the other, letting her fingertips tickle its soft fur. “You can look to the farthest corner of the universe and never find anything half as beautiful as the simple, yet undeniable power of human love. Love is unpredictable, unexpected, unconditional, uncontrollable and…” Betty swallows, suddenly feeling very naked and exposed. “I think I love you,” she tells the rabbit—Jughead. “And my heart…” It beats erratically and she feels flushed, warm everywhere and lighter than she ever has before, like she could fly again. “It’s yours, if you want it,” she tells him, staring at the rabbit expectantly.

Jughead sneezes again.

Betty nods. “All right.” She leaves the rabbit on the bed and goes in search of some hot water for a bath.

 

 

 

A hot bath is exactly what she needed tonight. The warm water seeps into her skin, soothing the aches in her legs and back she hadn’t noticed until now. Betty sighs and relaxes deeper into the water, her cheek pressed to the rim of the tub. Lazily, she swirls the water with her feet, trying hard not to think about the last time she was in a bath like this.

Then she was alone and about to have her heart carved out of her chest and eaten and now, well, now Jughead is a rabbit. Progress.

Betty is unsure how long she soaks there, clean and calm for the first time in days. She hums to herself, an old lullaby from the moon, and begins to doze when someone groans from the other side of the room divider.

“Betty?”

Her head snaps up, the pull of sleep disappearing in an instant. “Jughead?” He makes another low, unintelligible sound and she sighs in relief. “Are you normal?” she asks, feeling rather foolish. Is he even going to remember being a rabbit? Will he remember the witch?

“Am I— _what_?” His voice is rough and thick with sleep, a bit slurred from the transformation magic, but he sounds like himself. On the other side of the screen she hears him sit up on the bed and swear under his breath.

Relief washes through her. Betty tips her head back against the rim of the tub and closes her eyes. “Oh thank heavens,” she murmurs, infinitely glad he’s no longer a rabbit. While cute, he was much worse company. “Just hold on,” she says, hearing him moving around. “I’ll be right there.”

Betty shivers upon leaving the bath and throws a towel around herself, nearly slipping in her haste as she covers herself and slips around the screen separating the bath from the bed.

Jughead is right where she left him on the bed, though, thankfully, the fluffy tail and long ears have gone. He squints at her through the faint light coming in from the window, and Betty begins to shine as she sees him there, intact and looking much more like himself.

“Feeling better now?”

He blinks at her, bewildered. “That witch cursed me,” he murmurs, trying to process what happened. Betty is sure he’ll be upset later about losing that glass flower, but for now he doesn’t mention it.

Her lips twitch slightly. “Yes, she did,” she tells him, wondering if this is that dopiness Toni had warned her about. Jughead seems perfectly fine now, if not a little quiet and confused, but it isn’t as bad as she feared. “Glad to see it wasn’t permanent. You can draw a bath if you still want to take one,” she offers. Considering he was a rabbit, it’s probably in his best interest.

Nodding, he stands from the bed slowly, a little unsteady on his feet. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Yeah, I think I will.”

Betty secures the towel tighter around her chest, carefully avoiding Jughead’s gaze as she turns to the mirror in the room and runs her fingers through her hair. There’s a nervous fluttering in her stomach now that he’s a man again—a man she poured her heart out to.

Jughead watches her silently, fiddling with the buttons of his shirt in preparation for his own bath. “Did you mean it?” he asks her, making Betty pause and frown at him through the mirror. “What you said earlier?” he clarifies.

Her frown deepens in confusion, unsure what he means. “What I said—” Her hand drops back to her side and she spins on her heel to face him. What she told him before her bath. “But you were a rabbit!” She gasps, face heating up in embarrassment. “You just kept sneezing, you didn’t—”

Horrified, Betty covers her mouth. He heard everything she told him. _Everything_. He knows that she loves him. And she isn’t sure whether to be elated or terrified by that knowledge.

What becomes of a star with a broken heart?

Jughead quells her fears when he takes a step forward, crossing the short distance between them to cup her face in his hands. He tilts her jaw so that she looks at him. “I knew if I did you would stop,” he whispers. “And I think I’m allergic to rabbits.”

A disbelieving laugh slips from between her lips and Jughead chuckles. One of his hands slips around to cradle the back of her neck, coaxing her to open her eyes again.

“Look at me,” he murmurs. “Betty, look at me.” She does, gaze hesitant. His thumb brushes across her cheek again, making her lean into his touch. “Do you want to know what the captain said to me that morning?” Jughead’s eyes search hers and he swallows thickly when he finds his answer. “He told me to open my eyes and look at what was right in front of me,” he tells her. “That everything I wanted was right there. And he was right.” She breaks into a beautiful smile, her swelling and the entire room lights up with her joy. “It’s you, Betty,” he breathes against her lips, pressing his forehead to hers. “I love you, too.”

He kisses her for the first time then, like he wanted to on the road, and Betty sinks into his touch. It’s hesitant, a nervous brushing of lips, a quintessential first kiss, and when Jughead pulls away they’re both smiling.

He dives back into her them, kissing her harder, deeper, and in her chest her heart feels like it might explode. Their hands begin to move: tangling in her hair, sliding beneath his shirt, stroking bare skin where they can find it. They barely leave each other even for a moment, not to breathe, not to speak. They move together until he’s sitting at the end of the bed and Betty is standing before him, her towel pooled on the floor by her feet.

She should feel exposed, nervous, but when he looks at her all she feels is loved.

Betty bites her bottom lip, allowing him to pull her down onto the bed with him. A slow, hesitant hand slips down her naked back, his fingertips following the elegant path of her spine and drawing a shiver from her.

In the darkness it’s just them and the moonlight washing in from the window. Pale, silvery light casts a faint glow over the two of them, but the shadows make their features softer. Her eyes trace the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the length of his neck, and her hands follow, soft and barely there, feather light against his cheek. A shallow, shuddering sound escapes Jughead as her thumb brushes against his bottom lip and Betty lingers there.

Jughead brushes her loose hair away from her face and when she smiles the entire room lights up. She glitters beneath the moonlight, like there’s silver beneath her skin, or crushed diamonds, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. It’s ethereal, like something out of a fairy tale, and if he’s been bewitched he never wants it to end.

Her hands cradle his face gently and she leans down to kiss him again. She tilts his jaw, bringing his lips to hers and it’s like coming home. Jughead smiles against her, greedy palms pressing flush against her back, pulling her closer and drinking in the feel of her all at once. Goosebumps prickle at her skin where he touches her, the heat of his hands sinking into her. Betty sighs against him, content and breathless as a giggle spills from her when his fingers slide around to her ribcage, tickling and teasing.

Wildly, her heart beats as he continues to kiss her, his lips moving to her cheek and chin and down her neck until he’s touched her everywhere. Jughead anchors himself to her, keeping from spinning off into the sky and the moon and the stars that she loves so much, afraid he might lose her.

For the first time since she fell, Betty thanks the heavens above for gravity.

He guides her onto her back and his fingers lace through hers, a perfect fit. When he kisses her again it’s slow and soft and makes her head spin. And his hips rock against hers languidly, as if they have all the time in the world, even if it’s just for tonight. Everything else can wait until morning.

Jughead kisses down her neck to her chest, his mouth settling over her heavily beating heart. He laughs then, but it’s shaky, breathy and nervous and she keens beneath his clumsy touch. Betty arches into him like she wants to slip into his chest and stay there.

Fingers slip into his hair and Betty’s lips search for his in the hazy light. He kisses her again and then again and again until he loses all sense of time and space. A soft sound escapes her and he swallows it. Her thighs curl around his hips and he slips inside, exhaling shakily against her. Betty’s eyes flutter shut at the unfamiliar feeling, the two of them wound together so tightly that the line between them has blurred.

She whispers his name then, at the same instance her heart stops being her own, and joy like she’s never felt it before washes over her, a string pulled taut inside her suddenly finding release.

It feels like flying again.

Jughead twitches above her, shuddering and groaning her name. He releases a shaky breath, his forehead dropping onto her shoulder. Betty sighs as his arms slip under her back, pulling her into a soft embrace, the two of them breathing heavily. He whispers love in her ear over and over until she says it back. Jughead hovers over her, lets her wrap herself around him, and when they’ve both caught their breath he kisses her again and her heart swells.

* * *

Jughead wakes up before Betty the next morning, just as the sun is beginning to rise over the horizon, bathing the room in pale pink light. He lays there for several minutes, dozing with her curled against his chest, hazy and warm. Moving seems like an impossible task, but eventually he sits up and rubs the sleep from his eyes.

Beside him, Betty doesn’t stir, sleeping peacefully. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and for a moment he just stares at her, tracing the minute details of her face and committing them to memory. Without thinking, he brushes loose strands of her hair away from her face, reveling in the softness. She sighs when the back of his hand brushes across her cheek and turns, nuzzling into his touch.

Seeing her like that makes his heart seize in his chest.

A warm puff of air fans across his palm with his thumb traces the shape of her lips and Jughead squeezes his eyes shut, knowing what he has to do.  

He slips from the mattress, cleans and dresses himself, and then, as Betty sleeps, he draws his knife from where it was tucked into his boot and cuts a lock of her hair. He only hopes she can forgive him.

He leaves, careful not to wake her, and at the bottom of the stairs he turns to the man watching the front desk. “Excuse me,” he says, “can I leave a message with you for my friend upstairs?”

 

 

 

Nearly an hour passes before the sunlight makes Betty stir. She burrows deeper into the blankets, clinging to the last thin stands of sleep. “Last night was amazing,” she mumbles, grinning into the pillow beneath her head. She keeps her eyes closed as she rolls onto her back to face him. “I still can’t believe you—” Betty stops when she sees he’s not in bed beside her. “Jughead?” she calls into the room, sitting up in confusion. “Jughead?”

Betty slips out of bed to search the room, wrapping the bed sheets around her torso. Jughead isn’t anywhere in the room. His clothes are gone, as is the canister of lightening Sweet Pea gave to him. No note. Nothing.

And emotion she doesn’t want to name wells up in her throat, choking her, but Betty swallows it down before the feeling can fester. He must have just slipped out to get breakfast. Or perhaps he went to talk to that witch again about the information he’s owed—or even that bookseller he was so interested in haggling. He wouldn’t just leave without her.

Would he?

She throws on her dress and hurries down the stairs.

Toni isn’t there yet this morning. Instead, there’s a man sitting behind the front desk, bored and half-asleep. Betty clears her throat to get his attention and the man pulls his gaze away from the pencil he’s rolling across the desk.

“Excuse me.” He glances up at her for a second, quirking a brow at her presence, but otherwise says nothing. Betty sends him a small smile. “Do you happen to know where my friend went? He’s rather tall, dark hair, green eyes, long white coat?”

The man stares at her blankly for a beat. “He left about an hour ago,” is all he says to Betty, immediately turning back to his work.

Her eyes narrow in confusion. “I’m sorry, he _left_?” Why didn’t he wake her? If he needed to do something, she would have gone with him. A small sound of disbelief escapes her. “Did he say where he was going?”

“Yeah.” The man sighs, finally facing her properly when he realizes she won’t be leaving so easily. “And he told me to tell you he’s gone back to Riverdale to see Archie and his father, because he’s sorry, and he can’t stay.”

It’s like a blow to her sternum. “He—” Betty can’t bring herself to repeat it. He left her.

An overwhelming and tremendous pain expands in her chest and she forgets how to breathe. The heart she thought she gave away skips in her chest and she suddenly feels like there’s a closed fist around it, squeezing until it’s simply too much.

In her chest, Betty’s heart breaks.

 

 

 

FP and Jughead sit in the same position they were in nearly a month ago, though this time it’s not Jughead in disbelief. FP lets out a breathless chuckle and rubs a hand down the side of his face. “You really found it,” he murmurs. He glances at Jughead, laughing again as he shakes his head. “You found the fallen star.”

Jughead nods, grinning. “Yeah. I did.” Sometimes he still can’t believe it himself. But he did it. He found the star. She just isn’t like anything he ever would have expected.

“And it’s human?” FP questions, working through what Jughead told him. “A girl? Betty, you called her?”

“She is, yeah.” Jughead reaches into his pocket, finding the simple cloth he wrapped Betty’s hair in earlier. Hopefully, she won’t be too mad at him for cutting her hair, but he needs proof for Archie and the other boys. They wouldn’t believe him otherwise. More than that, he hopes she isn’t too upset about him coming alone. As much as he wants her to meet his father and friends, he doesn’t want it to be like this, not when he knows how he feels about her. “You’d love her,” he tells his dad. “She’s just…” Jughead shakes himself, unable to contain the foolish grin on his mouth. “I can’t even describe it.”

FP watches him for a moment, recognizing the same love struck look on his son that he had so many years ago. “Why didn’t you bring her?” It’s what he’s been wondering since Jughead first started his story. He’s talked about her fondly for nearly an hour now, and FP can’t figure out why she’s not here with him.

Jughead’s features soften immensely. “She deserves better than being some prize,” he tells FP, who nods in understanding. If he brought her to Riverdale now, she would be the star that fell, proof of what Jughead did, not just Betty.

“Next time,” FP says.

“Next time,” Jughead promises.

They chat for a moment longer and FP tells him what he’s missed in the weeks he’s been gone, which isn’t much at all. Riverdale has always been quiet, after all. Finally, Jughead looks at the time. “I have to go,” he says, disappointed that he needs to leave. “I still need to talk to Archie.” He doesn’t want to leave Betty for too long. With his luck, she’ll be asleep when he gets back. Rarely does she wake before noon, still adjusting to appropriate human waking hours.

Jughead and FP say their goodbyes and FP hugs him closer than he has since he was a small child, squeezing him until it almost hurts. Jughead grips him back just as fiercely.

When they say goodbye there’s a silent “for now.”

 

 

 

Betty ambles aimlessly down the central road in market, unaware of anything happening around her. A dull ringing echoes in her ears and the sounds around her become white noise, hazy as it slips into nothingness. As she wanders the road, Betty’s heart only breaks further, cracking and crumbling inside her.

It’s the most excruciating thing she’s ever felt, something she wouldn’t wish upon anyone.

She passes the same market stalls as last night. The jar filled with blinking eyes. The merchant with his books. The yellow caravan and the table covered in flowers made from delicate glass. There’s no blue bird perched this time, but a woman younger than the witch running the stall with light brown eyes that seem to shift color in the moonlight. Messy hair the color of a raven’s wing. A mischievous smile. She’s wearing a pretty, blue dress that hangs from her shoulders, and for an instant her eyes are the same shade, like the ocean sky on a calm day.

Betty doesn’t look at her, a ghost as she wanders through the crowds, heading straight for the edge of the market and the dirt path leading through the woods all the way to the gap in the wall separating one world from the next. So lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t think, letting her feet take her where they will, numb to the bustle of the marketplace. Betty doesn’t notice the woman at the stall.

The woman, however, does notice Betty.

Normally, she wouldn’t linger on any one person. Here in the market she sees hundreds of faces every day, some old, some new, none very remarkable. But she remembers this girl from last night, the one with the boy who had a small, glass snowdrop tucked into the pocket of his coat. A glass flower she remembers very well, though nearly two decades have past since then.

Perhaps that’s what makes her pause. She follows the young woman with her eyes, noticing the hollow look in her green eyes and the loose lacing of her pretty dress. What makes her call out in alarm is where the girl is heading.

She’s always had a special sight, one that goes deeper than most, and she saw the way the young woman shined last night, glowing far brighter than any human should. The rumor of a star in Eldervair, and with just one look she recognized what that girl is.

Some things are not meant to cross the wall.

 

 

 

Jughead finds them at the local tavern, chatting in one of the back corners. As he strolls over to them, Archie’s gaze skims right by him before suddenly snapping back in latent recognition, a reaction much like his father’s and Tom Keller’s when he crossed the wall from the other side. Jughead hadn’t realized how much he changed before.

Archie is up and out of his seat in an instant, rushing towards him in the near empty pub. Jughead is yanked into a tight embrace that would have knocked the wind out of him a month ago. Reggie and Moose aren’t far behind him and each claps Jughead on the back, calling loud greetings, happy to see him again after so long.

He’s pulled into the seat beside Archie, Reggie and Moose sitting on the other side of the table. They ask his dozens of questions about his clothes and his hair, where’s he’s been this entire time, what took so long, what it’s like beyond the wall. He keeps his recount of the last few weeks short and doesn’t mention Betty yet, simply tells them his adventure was a success.

“You actually found it?” Archie looks at him in amazement and Jughead chuckles, relaxing into his seat.

“I did,” he tells Archie, seeing the shock and awe on his friends’ faces. For the first time in his life he feels like he has nothing to prove to them. He fought a witch. He traveled with pirates. He fell in love.

He has nothing to prove.

“Well, lets have a look at it,” Reggie says, his smirk goading Jughead on. Jughead merely grins as he pulls the cloth with Betty’s hair out of his pocket and slaps it onto the center of the table, amused by the array of emotions that cross their faces.

Moose mason glances up at him as Reggie scoops up the cloth, before the others can react. “This is it?” Moose asks, raising one curious brow. He peers over Reggie’s shoulder as the other boy fiddles with the knot tying the cloth together.

“It’s a small part of it.”

Archie turns to him in the booth. “So what was it like beyond the wall?”

A breathless laugh tumbles from Jughead. “Like nothing any of us ever dreamed,” he says honestly. “And, Archie, the star was—”

“Jones!” Reggie snaps. “Why’d you bring back a measly bit of stardust?”

His head jerks around, his eyes locking with Reggie’s irritated ones. “What?” Reggie rolls his eyes and tosses the cloth back to him and Jughead throws it open. It’s not pale, silvery hair that spills out across the table but fine, glittering dust. “Betty,” he breathes. Raw fear squeezes his heart. “She can’t cross the wall.”

Without a word, Jughead lunges from his seat and races toward the tavern door, ignoring the calls of his friends behind him. He races back up the path towards the wall, praying he reaches it before she does.

 

 

 

The path to the wall is far shorter than Betty anticipated. As she stumbles through the forest into a wide, open field, the pain in her chest lessens, becoming an throbbing numbness. A raw ache that leaves her hollow inside. She should have known better. She never should have agreed to help him, as reluctant as she was. For centuries she saw the selfishness of humans, how they take and take without considering the costs.

She’d rather take her chances with the witch than feel so empty inside. Perhaps this is what it would be like to have her heart stolen from her chest. Or perhaps this is worse because she trusted him.

The hole in the wall beckons her forward. She breaches the gap. The rough stone is cool beneath her hands. She steps up onto the crumbled pile of stones separating Eldervair from his world.

A hand latches around her wrist and yanks her back.

“Stop!” Betty gasps as she’s jerked around. An unfamiliar woman starts pulling her away from the wall and towards a bright yellow caravan. The same one that belongs to the witch Byrdie. “You can’t cross the wall,” the woman tells Betty in a rush, glancing over her shoulder frantically. “You’ll die!”

Confusion sweeps through her. “What?”

The woman sends her a stern look, her lips pressed into a tight line. “If you set foot on human soil you’ll turn to rock.”

Several things happen at once: the back door of the caravan explodes open; Byrdie surges from inside; the woman yelps as she’s yanked off her feet by a silver chain connected to her ankle; the thunder of horses hooves sounds from farther down the wall.

Betty reaches for the slave-woman, but before she can do anything a coach drawn by four white horses pulls up from the south. The witch Byrdie drops the silver chain in her hands. The door opens slowly, revealing a small, shriveled old crone.

Now, older than she ever has been, the last of the Lillim witch queens steps out from the coach. She stares at the star with one half-blind eye. The cherry streak in her hair has disappeared entirely. In her hand she holds the long spiraled horn of a unicorn.

“If death is what you want, Girl,” she says slowly in a croaking old voice, “I can give that to you.”

Byrdie opens her mouth to speak, stomping over to them, but the witch queen lifts the hand holding the unicorn’s horn and a surge of putrid green magic rushes toward the younger witch. Though Byrdie throws up her arms and black smoke swirls from the tips of her fingers, she isn’t fast enough, nor strong enough, to combat the magic of the Lillim. The witch queen’s magic quickly consumes her, and when the green fire of the Lillim dissipates, all that’s left of Byrdie is a patch of scorched earth and a small, glass snowdrop.

The slave-woman rushes to Betty’s side as the witch queen cackles with laughter. The silver chain around her ankle disappears in a flash of moonlight silver.

The witch queen sighs, worn-out from her laughter. Her skin wrinkles further from the use of magic. “All right,” she turns to the coach, beckoning the other women follow her, “time to go.”

The slave-woman places herself between Betty and the witch. “She’s not going anywhere with you,” she snaps at the witch, baring her teeth in warning.

The witch only sighs. “Fine, you can come to.” She waves her fingers and a silver chain coils around their wrists. The witch gives it a little tug. “Come along.”

Reluctantly, the women follow, having little choice in the matter. As Betty steps into the coach the witch reaches toward her, smoothing a hand over her pale, golden hair, and humming in approval. “Even your broken little heart is better than no heart,” she tells Betty before slamming the door closed.

* * *

Too late, Jughead arrives at the wall, where Sheriff Tom Keller and his son Kevin stare in confusion and horror at the other side. Neither say a word as Jughead races passed and leaps over the crumbled bit of wall on the ground. The remains of a yellow caravan and a patch of scorched earth are all that’s left. He was too late.

He nearly screams into the sky until he notices a second set of tracks leading into the forest.

Before he can take off after them, something glitters on the ground, catching his eye: a glass snowdrop.

Jughead grabs the flower and tucks it into his pocket before unhitching the horse from the caravan and taking off after Betty and the witch.

 

 

 

The tracks lead him to a magnificent house just outside of the market that most certainly wasn’t there this morning when he left. It’s a grand building, two stories tall and surrounded by a luxurious garden filled with roses. Four white horses graze in the field beyond the house. The coach, however, is gone. It’s a trick he recognizes immediately, and Jughead knows both the witch and Betty are inside.

Jughead ducks down below the grand window in the front, peering in through the curtains. Spotting Betty isn’t difficult. The house is lavishly furnished, though strangely empty. Three figures stand in the grand hall. Immediately, he recognizes Betty, blonde and younger than the other two, and the witch, aged rapidly from the last time they met, shorter and limping as she hobbles around. The third figure is one he doesn’t recognize. A woman with raven hair and an aged, blue dress.

His fingers curl around the hilt of his sword, Jughead preparing himself to knock down the door and—

The sharp edge of a knife pressing against his windpipe stops him in his tracks. “Who are you,” a sneering voice asks in his ear, “and what are you doing here?” Jughead’s eyes widen and his heart leaps into his throat. Slowly, his gaze shifts to the right, where he finds a rather birdlike man dressed in all black looking particularly murderous.

He looks oddly familiar and it take Jughead a moment to place why. “Cormac?” he questions, recalling the name. The prince’s eyes narrow in confusion. “I knew your brother, Declan,” Jughead explains, mindful of the knife as his throat. Declan did tell him that his youngest brother was particularly violent.

“What are you doing here?” Cormac asks him again.

Jughead presses his own knife closer to the prince’s stomach, enough for the man to feel it. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Cormac glances down at the knife in begrudging approval. “Fair enough.” He withdraws his knife and crouches beside Jughead, peering in through the window as well. “There are two of them,” he murmurs.

“So what do we do? Just storm in?” Jughead asks.

The prince scoffs and rolls his eyes in irritation. “Storm in,” he repeats mockingly. “Have you ever fought a witch?”

“Actually, yes.”

The prince rolls his eyes at Jughead’s quip. They don’t have much between the two of them, a pair of swords and their wits, and whatever is in that boy’s case. “What is this?” Cormac asks him, tapping the canister looped over Jughead’s shoulder that Sweet Pea gave him.

Jughead pulls his gaze from the window and the witch inside. “Lighting.”

That catches the prince’s attention. “Lightning,” he repeats. “From the captain?”

Jughead jerks around in surprise, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How do you—”

Cormac snatches the canister from his hands. “Give me that.” Before Jughead can protest the prince hauls him to his feet. “Stay behind me,” Cormac demands. “And do exactly as I say.

Before Jughead can protest, the prince surges to his feet and lunges for the door, ripping it open wide. Jughead rolls his eyes, but hurries after the prince, his own sword drawn. As soon as they step inside the three women snap around to look at them. Betty’s eyes widen in shock when she sees him there.

Prince Cormac uncaps the canister of lightning, sending thousands of bolts arcing through the room. His aim is off. Instead of hitting the witch, the blast hits a foot in front of her and the air crackles with electricity. The curtains catch fire as the air ignites with static. The furniture begins to burn.

The witch waves her hand, almost bored, and the spiraled unicorn horn glows. The green flames of the Lillim witch swallow those created by the lightning, dousing them before they’re able to spread.

Jughead races to Betty’s side, uncaring of the witch in the room. She gasps his name as he crashes into her, arms immediately circling around her and yanking her up against his chest. She clings to him just as fiercely, head tucked against his chest to hear his heart race.

“You came back,” she whispers, her breath shaky against his neck.

Jughead chuckles against her ear. “Of course I did,” he murmurs back, kissing her forehead. “I’d never leave you.”

While Jughead runs to Betty, Cormac surges forward, grabbing the nearest woman, the one with raven hair. The prince raises his knife, ready to plunge it straight into her heart when she slaps him across the face, surprising him.

He stares down at her, shocked to see a face he hasn’t seen in nearly thirty years. “Gladys,” he whispers, recognizing his sister easily, even after all these years.

She’s just as surprised to see him. “Cormac?”

Before he can respond, his right arm snaps at the elbow, causing him to scream and drop his sword. The witch stands near them, holding a clay doll in  her hand, it’s arm bent to same way as the prince’s. The witch reaches for the doll’s leg, pursing her lips in irritation. It snaps and Cormac falls to his knees on the floor.

The witch sighs, walking over to him slowly. She slides a golden bracelet from her wrist and drops it on the floor between them. “You think you can kill me, Princeling?” she asks. Before Cormac can lunge for his sword, the witch’s bracelet shifts into a writhing serpent and sinks its fangs into the prince’s hand. He screams through his teeth as fire laces through his arm, the veins of his hand bleeding purple and then black with venom. The witch clicks her tongue as he convulses on the floor. “Shameful. Burning an old woman’s home.” Prince Cormac goes still.

(A sixth shade joins those standing alone the wall. The six sons of Eldervair’s king watch on, still in limbo, the bloodline broken.)

The Witch watches him for a moment longer before her gaze slides to Jughead and Betty, who cling to each other tightly.

Jughead shifts so he’s between Betty and the witch, so much like the last time they faced her together. But they’re defenseless this time. And he no longer has a Babylon Candle. Betty buries her face against his shoulder, clinging to him tightly, and Jughead pulls her into his chest, trying to protect her for as long as he can.

“I love you,” he whispers into her ear.

The witch queen sighs. “Really?” At her scoff Jughead opens his eyes, startled to see the irritated expression on the withered woman’s face, her eyes on Betty. “My dear, if you had to give your heart away why couldn’t it be for something useful?” Betty and Jughead both stare at her in surprise, but she merely waves them off. “Get out, both of you.”

Betty gapes at the dismissal. “What?” The witch pays her little attention as she makes her way back to the scorched couch in the room, sitting down and looking rather at home. “What are you talking about?”

The witch sighs and looks at Betty like she’s daft. “I came to fetch your heart, but I can no longer see it.” She purses her lips and looks Betty up and down. Jughead pulls her even tighter to his chest. “It used to glow like silver fire in my mind,” the witch explains. “That glow became patchy after that night at the inn. Now I can no longer see it at all. And your heart is no use to me when you’ve already given it away.” Her milky gaze shifts to Jughead. “Aren’t you so lucky.”

His mouth goes dry as he realizes what that means. He thought it was just the physical heart of a star the witch wanted, but it was deeper than that. There’s a magic there as well, and that can’t be so easily stolen.

“You’re not going to kill us?” he asks for clarification, glancing at the prince’s body laying sprawled across the floor.

While it’s fantastic news that Betty still loves him after he unintentionally abandoned her and got her kidnapped by a witch, there are more pressing things to worry about, like dying.

The witch looks at him. “Would you like me to?” she sneers, making him cringe away. The old crone rolls her sightless eyes. “I’ve wasted too much time on you already,” she admits to them, “and I have no magic left.” The surveys her charred home and grumbles to herself.  When she realizes they’re still there she sighs and hisses “shoo!”

Betty grabs his hand and makes for the door, unsure if the witch is being honest or not, but unwilling to risk it. Jughead lets her pull him away, but stops when something that shines catches his eye.

The stone Betty has been wearing around her neck since they first met is laying on the ground. The chain is broken into dozen of small pieces, but the stone itself is intact, not even a scratch. He scoops it off the ground, cradling it in his palm. Perhaps they can mold a new chain for it, if she’d like.

As he hurries back to Betty, who waits for him in the doorway, something peculiar happens. The stone, which has always been perfectly clear, suddenly bleeds with color before his eyes, becoming a deep shade of red.

“Jughead?” Betty looks between him and the stone, her brow furrowed in confusion and awe as the gem swirls with color, a vibrant ruby.

They exchange bewildered glances, neither sure what to make of the color changing stone.

“The last surviving male heir of the Eldervair bloodline,” a voice speaks up from behind them. Betty looks up in surprise at the slave-woman that stopped her from crossing the wall, the blue bird from the night before. She holds Betty’s gaze for a moment before turning to Jughead, and Betty is startled by what she sees. “That’s you, Forsythe,” she tells him.

Jughead straightens, one hand on the hilt of his sword. “How do you know—”

Betty curls her fingers in the sleeve of his coat. “She’s your mother,” she murmurs. They should have figured it out. The transformation magic. The bird. She looks exactly the way Jughead’s father described.

Gladys smiles at them. “I see it brought you luck.” She gestures to the snowdrop tucked into the pocket of his coat.

Grinning, Jughead chuckles under his breath. “Yeah, it did.”

(Behind him, six shades stand in a curved arc. As the ruby glows in Jughead’s hand, one by one the shades disappear into smoke.)

As Gladys begins making her way back to the market, Jughead loops an arm around Betty and pulls her tight against his chest. He kisses her soundly, dipping her backwards and her hands cradle either side of his face. They linger like that for far longer than necessary, drinking each other in.

Jughead pulls away to catch his breath and drops his forehead to rest against hers. “Well,” he murmurs, chuckling in disbelief. “Now that I'm king of Eldervair, how would you feel about being my queen?” She’d think he was joking if not for the look of utter sincerity in his eyes.

Betty laughs and kisses him again. Jughead lifts her straight off the ground, spinning her around in his excitement.

And she shines magnificently.


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to anyone who read this far and commented on the story! I appreciate you guys so much and really enjoyed seeing this story through to the end.

Forsythe Pendleton Jones III is crowned king of all Eldervair on the eve of his nineteenth birthday, the same night as his wedding to the fallen star who stole his heart so many months ago. The royal ruby rests above his heart, a symbol of his birthright, and he stands taller than he ever has before as his coronation commences.

Familiar faces watch from the crowd of spectators. Jughead’s friends and family from Riverdale seem out of place among the magic and miracles of Eldervair. His parents sit to his left, finally reunited after so many years apart. A crew of rough pirates fills two rows of seats near the back, far noisier than many of their guests. Sweet Pea sends them both knowing smiles and a secretive wink. At the captain’s side is a slight, brunette woman with pale flowers woven through her hair.

And in the very back of the room, hiding in the shadow of the Stormhold, a small, shriveled wraith of a woman stares with sightless eyes. Having long since lost her magic entirely, a pained longing pulls at her withered bones. Even now, the heart of the fallen star escapes her. The silver fire that one glowed in the back of her mind has gone out, leaving nothing but smoke and a warm flicker of a memory.

Queen Elizabeth’s gaze flickers to a shadowy corner of the Stormhold where she meets a familiar milky gaze for a mere moment.

The last of the Lillim witch queens smiles.

And when the star-touched queen’s eyes return to the spot there’s nothing but dust.

When the crown is placed upon his head, Jughead turns to Betty with raw, heartbreaking devotion in his eyes.

That night they dance, whispering love back to each other and smiling for all to see. It’s only for a moment that they leave each other as Jughead speaks to his old friends from Riverdale, leaving Betty alone.

A light touch to her elbow causes Betty to gasp. Her heart beats wildly in her chest as she turns to see her new mother-in-law standing behind her. The older woman pulls her into a brief hug, squeezing her tightly. Betty sinks into her embrace.

Gladys pulls away to smile down at her and places a warm hand on Betty’s cheek. She leans down to whisper in her daughter’s ear, “my gift to you.” A box is pressed into Betty’s hands, pale white, thin and long. The box is tied shut with a single blue ribbon. Before Betty can thank the woman, Gladys pats her cheek and disentangles herself from the new queen, leaving without another word.

Betty’s eyes follow Gladys to a nearby table, where she sits to speak with Jughead’s father, her hand lightly covering his. Frowning, Betty carefully removes the cover from the box, unsure what to expect from the acting queen of Eldervair.

Arms wrap around her middle and lips press to her temple, pulling her back against a familiar warmth that she sinks into readily. The steady thrum of his beating heart echoes in her own chest, their souls intertwined so tightly that neither knows where one ends and the other begins. “What have you got there?” he whispers in her ear as his fingers dance along the soft skin of her bare arms. He kisses the side of her head again, drinking in the soft scent of her hair, honey and lavender and stardust.

Betty’s lips curve into a gentle smile as she shows him the contents of the box. She looks over her shoulder to watch his eyes widen. Jughead breathes a laugh as he twirls her around in his arms and lifts her off her feet.

In the box resting upon white silk lay a single wax candle, black as night with ruins carved along the sides.

* * *

They reign for eighty long years.

King Forsythe and his star-touched queen wear their crowns long after the last of the Lillim witch queens have withered to dust and their children have grown into fine adults with children of their own.

Time is lost to them, unchanged from their youths, their souls burning as bright as the day they first fell in love. For he who possesses the heart of a star may reign eternal. And Betty had given her heard to Jughead completely, as he gave his to her.

On the eve of their eightieth anniversary, King Forsythe Pendleton Jones III removes the royal ruby from around his neck and holds it aloft the same way his grandfather did so long ago. With a smile, he says his final farewells to his children and grandchildren as the color bleeds from the jewel, leaving behind a clear gem dangling from a silver chain.

“Only one of royal blood can restore the ruby,” he tells his children. The chain is released from his grasp, though it remains floating in the air before him. “The one who does so will be the next king or queen of Eldervair.”

The stone flies out the window and disappears into the night.

Hours later, after their children have gone, Jughead and Betty stand on the highest balcony of the Stormhold, their hands clasped and the last Babylon Candle clutched between them.

He brushes the wisps of silver hair away from her eyes, still as deep and green and beautiful as the first time he saw her. “Are you ready to go, my love?” he whispers, pulling her close to him. Betty only smiles. Her thumb sweeps across the back of his hand. He kisses her one last time and presses his forehead to hers so there’s no space left between them. “Betty,” he whispers in her ear, holding the candle in one hand, a torch burning bright beside them, “hold me tight and think of home.”

She cradles the back of his neck in her hand as Jughead lowers the candle into the flames, allowing the wick to catch fire.

The balcony is consumed in soft, white light that grows and grows until it can be seen for miles across Eldervair. When the light fades the king and queen are gone.

In the sky, a pair of stars glow far brighter than the rest.


End file.
